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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25616665">The Barracks</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/doberman/pseuds/doberman'>doberman</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Barracks [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Call of Duty (Video Games), Call of Duty: Modern Warfare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Bonding, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, there will be a sequel to this once it's up so get invested</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:26:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>31,980</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25616665</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/doberman/pseuds/doberman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Barracks is a military-inspired inn based within Hereford, England, where good friends Soap and Ghost work. One day during his lunch, Soap sketches a handsome stranger in his journal. What he didn't know was that this stranger would later come to not only save him, but impact his life in more ways than one.</p>
<p>Note: these portrayals are based on mw 2019's versions. There will be a sequel to this fic once this one's finished.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John "Soap" MacTavish/John Price</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Barracks [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875625</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>77</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I finished the sequel before I finished the first fic ( don't question my methods ) so stick around for an in depth story about The Barracks bunch. I'm excited to put this out there. Thanks for reading and enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Aye, we’ve got foster’s. A pint’a that, yeah? That’ll be three quid, mate. Oh – on your tab? Aye, I can do that, not a problem.” Turning away from the bloke at the bar, Soap glanced up at the clock and rolled his shoulders. It was time for his break, bloody finally. “Ghost, I’m goin’ for lunch. You good here?”</p>
<p>Ghost looked over his shoulder from the cash register as he took cash from the parting customers. “Yeah mate, go ahead. See you in a bit.” There was a twinge of disappointment in the Brit’s voice and Soap knew why. While business had been significantly good the last few weeks, it meant that the two rarely got to hang out behind the bar like the good old times. Now, on a good day, they’d be hard pushed to be in each other’s presence for longer than an hour. Not to mention the times that Ghost was whisked off with military duties. If he was being honest, Soap couldn’t say that he hated it. He found it much easier to concentrate when Ghost was off doing his own thing and was often complimented on his service more due to the lack of distraction too. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss messing around from time to time with his best mate.</p>
<p>Regardless, the Scot loved working at The Barracks. It was an inn located in Hereford that served quality grub and friendly service. It’d been opened by a former SAS soldier who’d apparently wanted something specific to return home to after a tour and when he couldn’t find it, he decided to have it built. This led to military memorabilia occupying almost every empty slot of space and British flags dotted around as well as the regular visits from blokes in the SAS seeking refuge with their many mates. It was no perfect job, but Soap enjoyed himself, nevertheless. He’d began working there before Ghost, practically begging his friend to join him after Ghost had discussed how he didn’t have anything to do in his free time. It worked out for the best, however, since Ghost held a particular attachment to his skull mask which he was allowed to wear in the pub due to its military look.</p>
<p>Sighing, Soap made his way out into the carpark and pressed his back against the cool brick of a wall. He caught sight of his motorbike and his lips curved – a Honda CBR300R, matte black with a custom camouflage stripe down the bike’s side panel. His pride and joy, aside from his journal that was. With an hour of his time to spare, he made his way down the street to the local café which he often visited and seated himself at a table outside after ordering a latte. October’s weather was nippy to say the least, but Soap preferred the seats outside since it allowed him to sketch people that walked past or were stood nearby. He wouldn’t deny that it was weird, but people were often his main inspiration and he refused to sit in classes with other people who’d only judge and criticize his work. No thank you, he was perfectly content where he was.</p>
<p>His azure gaze hopped from face to face, noticing a woman on the opposite side of the street on the phone. She wore fur-lined boots and black leggings with a thick, grey jacket over a purple t-shirt that peeked out from the layer’s hem. Her hair was straight and came down to her waist, matching the colour of her leggings. Soap’s nose wrinkled – he wasn’t interested in trying to draw her. Not too far along stood a young bloke in a blue Adidas sweatshirt and grey sweatpants and it made him think about how he wasn’t a big fan of branded clothes. Losing himself in his thoughts, Soap gave a grunt as the man he was observing walked away down the path and out of sight. Biting his lip, he tried again, subtle stare falling onto two police officers stood outside the local bakery. He almost chuckled at the irony though his amusement dissipated when he began analysing their details. They were both handsome men, and one appeared to be quite a bit older than him though the other seemed to be around the same age – maybe even slightly younger. Their kit fitted them well, both adorning Custodian helmets and dressed in cargo trousers and a vest each to hold their equipment.</p>
<p>Soap found himself focusing his attention on the older man, fingers flicking through the pages of his journal for a clean area and then started sketching. He focused on getting his top half done first, aware that he might not have much time before the officers move on. The man had a spectacular moustache that protruded more than the rest at the cheeks and the Scot had to admit he was attractive. <em>You could arrest me right now for absolutely bugger all and I wouldn’t mind</em>, he found himself thinking.</p>
<p>“Here’s your drink.”</p>
<p>He almost jumped out of his bloody skin when the waitress appeared at his side, latte on a tray. Subconsciously, he flipped his journal shut from potentially prying eyes. “Oh. Great. Thank you…”</p>
<p>Hushed by his response, no doubt, the woman placed his drink on the table and gave a weak smile before returning into the café. How embarrassing, he thought. With a roll of his eyes, he peered back up in search of the officers, and for a moment Soap could’ve sworn the man he’d been sketching met his eyes dead on and panic swirled in his gut, forcing him to turn his stare to the table’s surface. <em>Shit, shit, shit</em>. A gulp of his far-too-hot latte was taken, requiring incredible skill not to spit it back out and gasp. Eventually he managed to calm down, awkwardly looking back to see that the officers were now packing up and binning their paper bags. <em>Damn! </em>Looked like he’d have to keep the image in his mind to continue his drawing. Disappointed that the eye candy was leaving, Soap reopened his journal and proceeded to add to it as his lunch passed him by.</p>
<p>With his hour finally coming to an end, Soap began the walk back to The Barracks to free Ghost from an unexpectedly busy serving.</p>
<p>“Fuck me mate, am I glad t’ see you,” Ghost greeted, firmly grasping his shoulder.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” Things worked better and happened faster when he cut straight to the point with his friend.</p>
<p>“What? Nothing. Just been run bloody amok in ‘ere.”</p>
<p>“Ah, right.” Good to hear, he thought. So long as no fights had been started, food thrown or plates dropped, it was fine. “Well I’m back from my break so feel free t’ take yours any time.”</p>
<p>“Cheers mate. Back later then.”</p>
<p>“Have fun.” Truth be told, Soap handled the chaos of a busy serving better than Ghost. He was a good problem solver and took no shit from the chefs whenever food complaints came in, which was rare. Although Ghost was a lot better at the chit-chat side of things – not that the man enjoyed it, but it came easier to him. Sure, Soap could hold a conversation but he often worried people found him uninteresting. Most conversations revolved around how cool his bike looked, but beyond that? Not much. Sometimes a group of women would find their way into the pub and sit giggling while glancing over at him and calling out obnoxiously. Of course, Ghost never turned down the attention but Soap? He never appreciated it. After all, he wasn’t interested in people flirting with him or a one night stand. He craved affection and to be loved by some<em>one</em>, but in the meantime, he’d focus on his job – and perhaps other things, because during the rest of his shift his mind kept drifting back to the police officer he’d started sketching earlier. He wondered what his name was, why he chose to work in the police, what was his connection to Hereford?</p>
<p>“Excuse me?” A customer approached the bar, a woman with a curl of ginger hair tucked behind her ears.</p>
<p>“What can I do f’ you?” Once again, he’s snapped from his thoughts.</p>
<p>“My coffee’s cold. I wasn’t sure – would you be able to warm it up?”</p>
<p>“Your coffee?” Soap faltered, thinking for a moment that he was being blamed.</p>
<p>“Yeah. The bloke with the… skeleton mask? He served it to me but left before I could mention anything.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you mean Ghost. So sorry about that! I can tell you he one hundred percent didn’t do tha’ on purpose, but forget warmin’ it up, I’ll make you a fresh cup – for free, alright?”</p>
<p>The woman appeared surprised by the offer. “That’s very nice but you don’t have to do that I –”</p>
<p>“Nonsense,” Soap shrugged with a warm smile. “It’s the least I can do. Which table a’ you at?”</p>
<p>Hesitating, she opened and closed her mouth debating whether to argue before pointing over to table eight. “Over there.”</p>
<p>“I’ll bring it over t’ you.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>“No problem.” What was up with Ghost today? He seemed a little… overworked. He wouldn’t bring it up, not until they were home. The man had other things to worry about, things that outweighed cold coffee. Humming, Soap served up the drink and carried it over to the woman, setting it down on the table. “There ya go, good as new.”</p>
<p>“Better, actually,” she shrugged. She’s not wrong, he supposed, seeing as the previous new was stone cold.</p>
<p>“Let me know if I can get you anythin’ else!”</p>
<p>“Thanks – uh…” She squinted at his name tag.</p>
<p>“It’s actually John. Um – Soap’s just a nickname, y’ know, f’ the military theme.”</p>
<p>“Ah, right. I was going to say… Though I’m not sure how soap relates to the military.” The woman chuckled. “I’m Cassie.”</p>
<p>He found himself remotely uncomfortable with the intimacy of this encounter. Sure, they were just exchanging names but he’d been there before. At some point, it’d be numbers and so on which would be fine if he was interested in the people giving said numbers. “Nice t’ meet you, Cassie. Have a nice day!” And with that, he swiftly retreated back behind the bar where there was both a physical and mental barrier between customer and staff. Soon after, Cassie left but first she gave him a wave goodbye to which he responded with a smile and a nod. <em>Glad that’s over</em>, he thought. Resigning to a stool when business had slowed, Soap took out his journal and continued his sketch of the officer. His features were unlike anyone’s he’d seen before, body emphasised by the vest that Soap found very attractive and the moustache was something that had him certain the man had a specific character. Oddly enough, there was a militant look about him. One Soap felt drawn to, having been in the shit himself not too long ago.</p>
<p>“I’m back, mate,” Ghost announced with a rough pat to Soap’s back. He’d crept up on the Scot, looming over his shoulder.</p>
<p>Jarred, Soap tried to shut his book in time but Ghost was yanking it from him in a heartbeat. “Ghost – <em>give that back!</em>” He warned, panic on his features. He could really do without being questioned today, in fact, he could do without it forever more in an ideal world. But it was far from that, and as if to prove such, Ghost opened the journal and examined the sketch.</p>
<p>“Who’s that?” A dirty finger was pressed to the page, making Soap flinch. “Looks like somebody I know.”</p>
<p>“For fuck’s sake, Ghost, you know how much that thing means t’ me. Hand it over.”</p>
<p>“Christ,” the other groaned. “Alright, alright. Here.” His assholery had its limits, at least – sometimes. “You gonna tell me who it is, at least?”</p>
<p>“Just some guy…”</p>
<p>“Just some guy?” Ghost pushed. “Looks like a good mate’a mine, if you ask me.”</p>
<p>“Well I <em>didn’t</em> ask. Besides, I… imagined him. So you <em>can’t</em> know him.”</p>
<p>Ghost considered the other. “So you just fancied drawin’ an officer?”</p>
<p>“Aye.” The reality that his friend might know this bloke started to set in and he found himself growing nervous.</p>
<p>Despite the mask, Soap could feel the skeptical look Ghost was giving him. He’d known him long enough to sense it. “Right. Okay – I believe you.”</p>
<p>“Doesn’t matter if you do or don’t.” Besides, it wasn’t like he’d ever see the bloke again, let alone bump into him.</p>
<p>“Sure, mate, sure. I’ll be with the tables,” Ghost stated, disappearing out of sight in the blink of an eye into the restaurant area, <em>thankfully</em> giving up the interrogation.</p>
<p>Soap hoped Ghost knew that, were anything serious to ever happen for him relationship wise, he’d be upfront and honest about it. But Ghost had an absent-minded bossiness about him where he’d bully you into chatting people of interest up which, for the not so smooth-talking MacTavish, never worked out. If only this day would end soon so he could head home and relax.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The rest of his shift was quiet, save for a few rowdy blokes who came in for their afternoon meet up. A seven-hour day finished and bagged, Soap collected his things and left. Tugging on a sweatshirt, hi-vis vest and then his helmet, he seated himself on the bike and flipped up his visor, looking over to Ghost who was getting onto his own bike. “See you at home?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, mate. Will do!” Ghost left first; face hidden by a darkened visor as his mask had been shoved into his pack. Soap had seen his face on countless occasions, hell, they lived together so it was unavoidable. Although he knew his mate felt more comfortable keeping himself hidden, something he had grown to respect.</p>
<p>As Soap began inserting his keys, someone called out from behind him. Worried he might reverse and hit someone, he glanced over his shoulder again only to spot someone he did not want to be stuck with.</p>
<p>One man becomes three, three become six and soon enough his heart was pounding in his chest.</p>
<p>“Get off the bike,” a man demanded, Russian accent thick.</p>
<p>“Give us the keys,” another added.</p>
<p>“Makarov,” Soap addressed, staring at the older man cautiously. Fingers flexed as they closed in on him and knowing they were too close for him to start the engine prevented him from doing so. “I’ve told you to stop coming here. Leave now or I’ll call the police.”</p>
<p>“You do not want to be doing that, MacTavish,” Makarov informed. His accent was softer than the others, reserved and it was awfully intimidating. “We’d be gone long before they got here.”</p>
<p>“I’m not givin’ you my bike.”</p>
<p>“Then we will take it.”</p>
<p>And without any time to react, he was pulled from his bike by someone much larger than him and thrown to the floor. He clutched his keys tightly, heavy breath hot on his face as it bounced off the inside of his helmet and a shout left him when someone kicked him in the gut. Following that, he was kicked in the ribs several times, then grabbed, pulled and tossed as they struggled to get the keys from him. In a last minute act of resilience, Soap delivered a brutal kick to someone’s face and scrambled over to his bike. He desperately searched for where to put the key, frantically twisting and turning his hand until the engine revved to life. Then, he was off and away from Makarov and his group of thugs.</p>
<p>As he reached the front door of his apartment, he paused. His entire body was sore and ached with every shift – there was no way he could get past Ghost without him noticing, right?</p>
<p>Soap unlocked the door and stepped inside as quietly as he could, listening for any movement. He locked the door and shuffled his way down the hall towards his room, peeking into the living area where he spotted Ghost passed out on the sofa. <em>Thank god</em>. The challenge wasn’t over then though, for he had to navigate his way through the dark, barely missing stubbing his toe a few times. Finally reaching his bed, he climbed under the covers and only then did he remove his helmet, setting it on the floor beside him. He’d go to sleep like this and worry about the dirt in his bed in the morning. It hurt too much to do anything more at that moment and he knew better than to try contacting the police. Makarov wasn’t a man you talked about, let alone <em>reported</em>.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“What the fuck did <em>you</em> get up to, then?” Ghost’s voice boomed into the room. The door was cracked open enough for him to poke his head through and spot Soap curled up beneath his covers. Dirt littered the floor from where he’d been pushed over and despite his face not giving any signs of a beating, he was still in his clothes from the previous day and had slept late – all signs of something wrong, seeing as Soap liked things clean, neat and left as it was found.</p>
<p>“Shite…” Soap groaned at the other’s volume, tucking his head.</p>
<p>“Yeah, <em>shite</em>,” Ghost agreed. “You know work’s in twenty minutes, don’t you?”</p>
<p>“What?” Disorientated and groggy, he shifted to sit up and bit back a sharp hiss. Oh he would definitely be in a lot of pain today. “Fuck. Alright, alright, I’m up. Bugger off an’ let me get ready…”</p>
<p>Huffing, Ghost left him alone allowing the Scot to ooze out from under his blanket and stagger to his feet. Grabbing some spare clothes, he gradually made his way out of his room and into the bathroom where he peeled away his clothes to examine the mess beneath. Soap frowned at his reflection, grimacing at the galaxy of bruises that had appeared across his body and arms. There were a few cuts across his waist where his clothing must have exposed his skin to the ground when he was thrown and more scattered on his forearms and hands from bracing. “Christ,” he muttered. He’d have to cover up as best he could today – no way could anyone see these and not view them as suspicious. This was no regular fall or accident.</p>
<p>First, he needed a shower. Twenty minutes until work and it was a ten minute drive. Clean up would have to wait until he got home, if he even made it home this time. Soap was no small guy, he could easily take on Makarov by himself, however, the Russian always had company. Far too pristine to get blood on his clothes unless absolutely necessary. He turned the water on, tilting his head back as it soothed aching muscles and pulsing bruises, letting out a strained hum at his misfortune.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>warning: road accident ahead!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Typically, Soap wasn’t the rushing type. He’d leave plenty of time to get to his location to avoid trouble, and if he was late for work then that’s <em>just how it was</em>. However, he was in a significant rush to beat the clock today to avoid raising suspicion. Especially after how Ghost had found him this morning, he could do without any interrogations today. The weather could’ve been nicer, appearing to have rained for the majority of the night making the roads slippery.</p>
<p>The Scot knew better than to speed and risk his life, maintaining the limit though admittedly his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t stop thinking about how he could’ve been in serious trouble last night. About how Makarov could’ve <em>ended</em> it for him then and there and while people would’ve noticed him missing, they’d have no clue where to start looking. The bastard was a well-known, organized criminal who cheated people out of their money and properties which were then used to fuel whatever messed up hobbies he participated in.</p>
<p>Simon had mentioned secret intelligence services were actually looking into the guy, and the Scot hoped to the highest heavens that they’d find something. When The Barracks’s owners refused to sell the property over to the wanker, he made a point of causing them trouble every so often. Only Simon <em>knew</em> about Makarov’s insatiable disdain for Soap and The Barracks because the Russian also hated <em>him</em>. Except Ghost knew how to draw eyes which often discouraged Makarov from trying anything, but Soap was no good at that. He realized he had barely made a sound last night during the attack. Many staff had quit due to violence and intimidation.</p>
<p>He was rounding a sharp bend in the road when an awful zipping sound could be heard. His hands tightened on the bike’s handles as friction seemed to be lost to the wet tarmac and he skidded with it, left leg trapped beneath the weight of his toppled motor as they both skated to the side of the road before the bike clipped the pavement and he was thrown a few feet onto the grass.</p>
<p>At first, he was stilled by shock – unmoving and silent, save for his shallow, raspy breathing. Next came panic, an internal terror because it had only been a few years ago that he’d lost a friend that’d been on the back of his bike in an accident. Mac had been a close friend of Soap’s and he’d often sat behind the Scot on rides. But when someone pulled out in front of them at a high speed, the bike had crashed and hurled them through the air. Mac hadn’t survived, the memories of it raw in Soap’s head, the injuries and the damage caused and he’d always blamed himself for it. It was why he never let Ghost on his bike with him, why he never let anyone on it <em>except</em> himself.</p>
<p>His body trembled violently, pain vanishing and were it not for the tightness in his chest, he felt that he could’ve stood and walked there and then. “<em>Fuck</em>!” Was all he could manage, desperate to flee from the overwhelming anxiety. He thought he could hear footsteps, the scuffing of boots against gravel and it took him a moment to realize there was someone standing over him, <em>talking</em>. Their voice was low, gruff and Soap could barely make out what they were saying.</p>
<p>“You’re gonna… first aid… ambulance on the… your name?”</p>
<p>Soap blinked, view restricted by his visor. He felt as though he recognized the man from somewhere. After some time of fading in and out, he could finally hear the other.</p>
<p>“Alright, mate, can you tell me your name? D’ you know where you are? He’s got ‘is eyes open – can’t bloody see past the helmet though.”</p>
<p>“<em>Visor</em>…” Soap wheezed. He could see another man to his left, or maybe it was the same guy and his vision was fucked – he couldn’t tell.</p>
<p>“No mate, can’t take your ‘elmet off right now–” A different voice spoke.</p>
<p>“No,” Soap said firmly. “<em>Visor</em>.”</p>
<p>“Visor,” the word was repeated by the other man and soon enough it was flipped up and light flooded his view. “That better?”</p>
<p>“Shite…”</p>
<p>“Well I can tell you that none of this is a picnic.” A hand was pressed to his shoulder, a gentle touch but pain shrouded it, nevertheless. “I need you t’ tell me if anything hurts.”</p>
<p>“Everything,” Soap grunted. “Arm. My bloody <em>arm</em>.” He regretted the admission because the touch moved to his arm and he shouted.</p>
<p>“We’ve got an ambulance on the way, mate, you just hang on, alright? Can you tell me your name?”</p>
<p>“J-John. John… MacTavish.”</p>
<p>“Can you tell me what happened, John?”</p>
<p>It was the same person speaking to him, the other one having gone quiet in the distance – perhaps on the phone. “Fuckin’… wet road. Slipped I think.”</p>
<p>“Easy, mate, easy,” the hand was back on his shoulder, keeping him from moving about.</p>
<p>Soap’s heart dropped. “My bike. Shite! Where’s my bike?”</p>
<p>“Few feet away. Don’t worry about that right now.”</p>
<p>“Is she fixable?”</p>
<p>“Focus on yourself right now, lad.” There was something in the man’s tone that Soap found comforting. Nothing patronizing or belittling – his previous crash he’d had someone lecturing him regarding speeding and motorcyclists messing around when it hadn’t been his fault in the slightest.</p>
<p>“Ah – I hope she is. I <em>love</em> that bloody bike.”</p>
<p>“You from around here?”</p>
<p>“A-Ah, aye… ‘bout ten minutes away.”</p>
<p>“Where were you headed?”</p>
<p>“Work. Shite, I’ve gotta let Ghost know –” Soap tried to shift in an attempt to reach the phone in his pocket but winced, pain halting his efforts.</p>
<p>“You can do that later. Don’t move for the time being. Don’t wanna make anything worse, do you?”</p>
<p>“Is that a threat?” Soap jested weakly.</p>
<p>“It might be.” The dryness is returned equally. There was a brief pause as the man at his side exchanged information with the other bloke on the phone. “You say your friend’s name is Ghost?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. <em>Nickname</em>.”</p>
<p>“Simon Riley,” the officer squinted.</p>
<p>Soap paused. “Uh – how did you –”</p>
<p>“He’s a good mate of mine. Served with me for a couple of years.”</p>
<p>The Scot’s head was spinning. “You were in the military?”</p>
<p>“I was.”</p>
<p>“Bloody hell.” That was a lot to take in.</p>
<p>The other chuckled. “So does that mean you also have a nickname?”</p>
<p>“You’ll laugh.”</p>
<p>“Trust me, takes a lot to make that happen.”</p>
<p>Soap’s lips quirked. <em>Who was this man? </em>“It’s Soap.”</p>
<p>“Soap.”</p>
<p>“Aye. <em>Soap</em>.”</p>
<p>“What the bloody hell kind of name is Soap, eh? Ghost I <em>can </em>understand but… <em>Soap</em>?”</p>
<p>It was torturous hearing this man’s gravelly voice repeating his name so many times. Where was the damn ambulance? “Go on then, what’s <em>your</em> name?”</p>
<p>There was a pause. “Price. John Price. And the other bloke is called Gaz.”</p>
<p>It was impossible to keep from looking anywhere but into the stranger’s eyes, vivid blue hues rich with sympathy. “John saves John. That’ll be somethin’ for the newspapers.”</p>
<p>The other man chuckled, though he swiftly fell silent and cleared his throat. “Hardly newspaper worthy when it’s my job.”</p>
<p>That piqued his exhausted interest. “What?”</p>
<p>“I’m with the police.”</p>
<p>The man’s identity dawned on Soap in an overwhelming wave that threatened to sweep him away into the nearby ditch. It was the officer he’d been drawing the previous day! He remembered now, details somewhat different up close but the moustache remained the same. <em>It’s him, it’s the guy! </em>“What, you just happened t’ be passing by?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, actually. It was our day off, so we were out on a walk. Were about to head home when you came crashin’ down the road.”</p>
<p>“Sorry about that…”</p>
<p>“You’re alright, mate. It’s what we’re here for.”</p>
<p>There was a short pause as Soap considered the man, albeit dizzily. “Well then, I appreciate your service and time, sir,” Soap stated with a clumsy smile.</p>
<p>“Sirens, Sergeant,” Gaz piped up out of sight.</p>
<p>“I hear ‘em. Right lad, the ambulance is here and they’ll sort you out.”</p>
<p>All good things had to come to an end, and quite frankly, Soap was far too out of it to comprehend the disappointment in his gut. “Well it was nice meetin’ you, Price. Thanks f’ your –”</p>
<p>“Sorry lad, you’re not done with me yet.”</p>
<p>“Huh?”</p>
<p>“I’ll be accompanying you to the hospital. Paperwork and what not. Got to make sure I get everything written up.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Stumped and confused, Soap stopped talking and instead enjoyed the warmth the other emitted. His left leg felt numb and his right arm burned. In the distance, sirens blared as the ambulance approached. Medics jumped out and information was given regarding his status.</p>
<p>“Alright, sir? Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a pickle, eh?” A woman spoke. Beside her, a stretcher was positioned.</p>
<p>“Didn’t exactly choose it…” Soap bit back. He understood that they were merely trying to be hospitable but there was so only much he could handle.</p>
<p>“He’s got pain in his arm and his leg looks quite bad,” Price informed them, maintaining his presence at Soap’s shoulder which he found comfort in.</p>
<p>“Any pain in the spine or neck?” The woman inquired.</p>
<p>“Don’t know. Can’t move t’ check,” the Scot replied.</p>
<p>“Right. Okay, what we’re going to do…”</p>
<p>“<em>John</em>,” he helped reluctantly.</p>
<p>“John,” she smiled back, “is get you onto this stretcher here and then into the ambulance, alright?”</p>
<p>There was another medic that helped her move him, however, he allowed the woman to take the lead and Soap wondered whether he was a rookie. Price and Gaz also assisted as best they could.</p>
<p>Price leaned out of the van and called out to his colleague. “PC Garrick, you stay with the scene. Have the bike collected and –”</p>
<p>“Price –” Soap interrupted, prompting the older man’s gaze to flick to him. “Please… make sure she’s looked after.”</p>
<p>“I’ll do my best, lad.” With that, the doors were shut and Price seated himself in the corner, out of the medic’s way who continued to poke and prod at him.</p>
<p>“I’m fine. Just a bit scratched up is all…” Soap stated.</p>
<p>“We still need to get you checked over, John. Make sure there’s no fractures. Do you feel like you’ve got a fever at all?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>Regardless of his words, however, she invaded his space to take his temperature. “That seems alright to me, great.”</p>
<p>“Can’t bloody <em>believe</em> this…” He sighed, moving to close his hand into a fist and wincing at the action.</p>
<p>“You just sit back and relax, lad,” Price spoke up. “Make things any worse and you won’t be leaving any quicker, I assure you.”</p>
<p>At that point, his phone started to ring in his pocket. “Ghost…” he gasped, knowing his friend was probably worried sick about him.</p>
<p>“That him calling?” Price asked.</p>
<p>“Probably. He’ll be wonderin’ why I never showed up.”</p>
<p>“Want me to speak to ‘im?”</p>
<p>There was a pause as Soap considered his offer. “I – could you?”</p>
<p>“Of course. Where’s your phone?”</p>
<p>“Pocket, <em>ah</em> – right leg.” There was a deafening silence as Price stepped closer, his scent stronger in this confined space and Soap tried to figure out what it was. Something musky, a little spicy – cigars and a strong body wash maybe. It was… an interesting mix to say the least, and Soap felt himself drawn in by it. Hands patted at his pocket, causing him to tense as his phone was brought into view and the call answered.</p>
<p>“Hello?” Price began, turning away as he spoke to the person on the other line.</p>
<p>The Scot tried his best to listen in but found it near impossible with his helmet muffling every sound so he settled for watching instead, drinking in every detail and his body language. It definitely was the man he’d been drawing, excitement aching in his chest at the coincidence of bumping into him. If only he wasn’t in such a sorry state. He blinked when Price turned back to face him, averting his gaze in the hope that it wasn’t obvious he’d been staring. The phone was placed into the pocket of his jacket. “What did he say?”</p>
<p>“I told him the situation and naturally he’s worried but I told him we’ve got it all under control.”</p>
<p>“Is that it?”</p>
<p>“I told him where we’re headed and he said he’d come pick you up when you’re good to go. After I’ve got all my information.”</p>
<p>“And what information d’ you need, exactly?” Soap squinted. He’d been distracted and slipped on the wet road, that’d been it. Nothing else was at play here.</p>
<p>“I’m a police officer, John. It’s my job to make sure there was no other reason you might’ve come off your bike today. I’ll need to run a few tests once you’ve been checked over and if you pass ‘em you’ll be free t’ go.”</p>
<p>“Not a fan of tests,” he grunted.</p>
<p>“I’ll go easy on you,” Price humoured him with a slanted smirk.</p>
<p>“Easy?” Soap scoffed. “I don’t do easy.”</p>
<p>“Clearly.”</p>
<p>“Give me a challenge. I’m good at those.”</p>
<p>Price tilted his head, chin rising. “I’ll bear that in mind.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>The journey to the hospital took no longer than fifteen minutes, the ambulance pulling up and the medics bringing him out on the stretcher before whisking him away through reception. Price followed a short distance behind as he was led into a side room. “We’re going to get you x-rayed,” the woman explained. “Then, once we know what parts are wounded and what parts aren’t, we’ll see to your treatment, alright?”</p>
<p>“Just don’t take too long, please,” Soap requested, reality kicking in as he felt the vulnerability of his situation.</p>
<p>“Of course not,” the woman replied with a warm smile. She stepped outside of the room, leaving him in Price’s presence for a few moments as she presumably went to get some doctors.</p>
<p>“Glad you were there… Price,” Soap informed. “Don’t know how long I would’a been there had you not been around.”</p>
<p>“My pleasure,” Price answered, his own lips curving into a smile with his moustache emphasising the motion which Soap was unable to keep from reciprocating. “So, you’re a motorcycle enthusiast, eh?”</p>
<p>“Aye,” he croaked. “Loved ‘em since I was a kid.”</p>
<p>“Any specific reason why?”</p>
<p>“They were an escape for me.”</p>
<p>Price’s expression faltered. “From what?”</p>
<p>“Life, I suppose. I had a lot’a trouble with my dad. My friends at the time would go out riding every couple of nights and I always tagged along. My mum bought me one f’ my eighteenth birthday, couple months before she passed away. I uh – later left the Marines so it was… good company.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry she passed.”</p>
<p>“Ah, it would’a happened eventually.” There was an uncomfortable pause as Soap realized he was possibly oversharing. “Anyway… that bike you saw just now? A bunch of its parts are from the original one my mum bought me. That’s why I was so… worried about it.”</p>
<p>“Understandable. Is that all you have left of her?”</p>
<p>“In a sense, yes. I had to leave home, leave my dad when he became too much and consequently left most of my memories there. Only have a couple pictures which… don’t quite hold the same sentiment.”</p>
<p>“Damn shame about your bike then, I’m sure it can be fixed though.”</p>
<p>“I bloody hope so. Christ, I apologize f’ my… blathering. This wasn’t one of the tests by any chance, was it?”</p>
<p>Price gave a shake of his head. “Not at all. You were in the Royal Marines, were you?”</p>
<p>“You always ask people this many questions?”</p>
<p>He didn’t get time to answer, however, as a nurse entered the room with a clipboard under her arm. “Right, John. I’m here to take you to your x-ray. You don’t need to do anything, just sit tight in that stretcher and I shall wheel you down.”</p>
<p>“I’ll wait here,” Price informed, arms crossing over his chest. “Will you be bringing him back to this room?”</p>
<p>“It depends on his injuries, Sir. I will have someone update you, if you’d like?”</p>
<p>“That be helpful.”</p>
<p>Then, Soap was being wheeled out of the room and down a clean, long hall and into a dark space accompanied by screens and a massive machine in the middle of the room. With the help of some more nurses, he was lifted onto a table and left there as the nurses exited the room. “Alright Mr MacTavish,” a man’s voice spoke out from a little room to his left. “I’m going to take a few x-rays. If you can stay very still, this will only take a few minutes.”</p>
<p>Soap closed his eyes, listening to the whirring of the machine as he waited for it to be over and the doctor had been right. Shortly after, he was being lifted back onto the stretcher and wheeled out of the room to wait for the results.</p>
<p>No broken bones and no fractures. It should be good news, but when the nurses began peeling off his sweatshirt to assess his injured arm he wondered if a breakage would’ve spared him the examination. At this point, Price had left the room for patient privacy though he was likely just outside which kept Soap on edge. He didn’t want to be questioned about the bruises – then again, maybe they’d assume it was from the accident.</p>
<p>No comments were made, however, regarding his cuts and bruises which he was thankful for. His arm was manoeuvred this way and that, prompting him to hiss as a sharp pain throbbed from his forearm every few twists.</p>
<p>“It’s very likely the minimum you’ve done is sprained your forearm, John. You can see the swelling is quite prominent and there appears to be significant bruising. Did you happen to have a fall before this, too? As some are a bit too well developed for them to have been sustained a few hours ago?”</p>
<p>“I did. Very clumsy,” Soap lied.</p>
<p>“Maybe that helped in making your arm a little more susceptible to this injury, then. For this, I’ll be giving you a sling to keep it elevated and out of use so that you may rest it. I’d recommend avoiding work for a while. What do you do?”</p>
<p>“Bar staff.”</p>
<p>“Ah – well in that case as long as there’s no heavy lifting or usage of that arm involved you could probably get away with a few days off. But rest is paramount, Mr MacTavish.” The mentioned sling is brandished from a sealed bag and she rested his arm in it and secured it around his neck. This would be uncomfortable for sure.</p>
<p>“Aye.”</p>
<p>“As for your leg, you’ll be given a prescription antibiotic to fight off infection and I’ll be sure to clean the wound before you leave.”</p>
<p>“Is that necessary?” Soap grunted.</p>
<p>“It is I’m afraid. If you want it to heal. You should be alright walking on it, however, try to wear shorts as often as you can to let it breathe.”</p>
<p>“Shorts? It’s bloody October!”</p>
<p>The nurse’s features scrunched with empathy. “I’ll get to cleaning your leg, and then you can get your interview with the officer out of the way.”</p>
<p>Out of the way. Would that mean Price would leave after it? Never to be seen again. The Scot sighed with a nod. “Alright.”</p>
<p>It took a while for his leg to be presentable, his trouser leg trimmed and cut away for access. The majority of the wounds were wrapped with sterile bandages. Once it was done, the nurse exited the room, retrieving Price. He was brought back in and then they were left alone.</p>
<p>“I’ve been told you’re ready to take my tests,” Price said, unfolding his arms and letting them rest at his sides. His gaze wandered to the sling, expression unreadable.</p>
<p>“Aye, let’s get ‘em done.” Soap noticed Price’s gaze examining his bruises, freezing as he remembered the nurse had taken his sweatshirt off, leaving him in a smart, black t-shirt. Though he supposed at least he was free from the stretcher now.</p>
<p>“Those are nasty,” he commented. “Are those from the crash?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Soap responded far too quickly.</p>
<p>Price didn’t seem convinced though and Soap was certain he’d probably seen enough bruises in his line of work to know they <em>weren’t</em> – or at least the darkest ones. Nevertheless, any skepticism wasn’t voiced and he pulled out a small contraption and brought it over. “I need you to blow into this for me.”</p>
<p>“I’ve never been asked t’ do <em>that</em> before,” Soap mused, desperate to switch topics, to change the mood – anything.</p>
<p>The Sergeant barely reacted, a slight arch in his brow being the only change. “First time for everything.”</p>
<p>Knowing better than to dig himself into a deeper hole, Soap placed his mouth over the piece.</p>
<p>“Keep going ‘til I say stop. Just like you’re blowing up a balloon, alright?” Soap’s prolonged exhale was accompanied by Price repeating ‘<em>keep going</em>,’ followed by a firm “stop.” The machine bleeped and Price examined the numbers. “That’s showing zero.”</p>
<p>“What’s it for?”</p>
<p>“Checks if there’s alcohol in your system.”</p>
<p>“At nine in the bloody morning?” Soap’s brows furrowed.</p>
<p>“You’d be surprised by the things I’ve seen,” Price hummed. “Now I’m just going to use this to swab your tongue, if you could allow me to do that.”</p>
<p>“This all seems a bit unnecessary, doesn’t it?” Invasive and intrusive and Soap hated it.</p>
<p>“I do apologize about that, Soap, but I’m afraid I have to rule everything out.”</p>
<p>“Drugs?” Soap questioned, hoping Price himself didn’t think such was the case.</p>
<p>“Just routine.”</p>
<p>His tongue was stuck out to be swabbed which Price did quickly to reduce discomfort and then placed it into another small machine. It bleeped, and once again nothing showed up. “I’m very pleased with these results. So seeing as you’ve not consumed anything to cause this accident and if it really was the wet road then might I suggest you travel slower in the future. <em>Especially</em> around bends.”</p>
<p>“I do that bloody journey every day,” Soap admitted. “Can’t believe <em>that’s</em> what got me.”</p>
<p>“Mm. Always best to remain alert. Getting too comfortable can be dangerous.”</p>
<p>“That sounds like a riddle.” He felt painfully exposed to this stranger, left leg hanging out of his shredded trousers and arms visible in all their wounded glory. In the process of getting his x-ray done, his helmet had been removed to provide a better view of his neck on the scan, meaning even his unscathed face was on display. “Quite the mysterious man, eh? First you appear out of no where and practically save my life ‘n’ now this?”</p>
<p>“I suppose I am,” Price shrugged. “Predictable is boring.”</p>
<p>“Huh.” The air between them grew tense, like they were stuck in a game of chess and neither of them knew what move to make next.</p>
<p>“I ought to be off, then.”</p>
<p>Soap had to keep from frowning at Price’s words. “Thanks again, Price.”</p>
<p>“No problem, lad. You take care of yourself. And I’ll keep my fingers crossed f’ that bike of yours.”</p>
<p>“Cheers.” He watched the officer exit the room, chewing at his lip. Something didn’t feel right, as though he should’ve stopped Price from leaving. It was lonely in the clinical-looking room, and despite his discomfort, Price did his best to not add to it and in fact Soap noticed the ease the other brought. He was told by the nurse that he needed to keep his legs covered for a few days and then let them breathe and scab over which would undoubtedly itch like hell. All this because he got <em>distracted</em>.</p>
<p><em>Could’ve been much worse</em>, he told himself.</p>
<p>“That’s you all sorted, Mr MacTavish. Here’s your antibiotics. Look after yourself and if you have any worries or problems just pop back and one of our staff will help you out.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Soap nodded. When the nurse walked away, leaving him in the waiting room, he proceeded to draw out his phone and call Riley.</p>
<p>“<em>Soap</em>?” The man’s voice on the other end sounded exasperated.</p>
<p>“Yeah, Simon. It’s me.”</p>
<p>“Fuckin’ ‘ell mate! What happened? I’ve ‘eard nothing all day. How come Price was with you?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine… ish. Look, I’ll tell you about it when I’m home. Could you come and pick me up?”</p>
<p>“Of course, fella. I’m on my way now, hang tight.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading! feel free to leave feedback c:</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So you mean t’ tell me that I’ll be workin’ hard all week while you’re sat on your arse?” Simon accused, arms folded and shoulders squared.</p>
<p>“Not by choice, mate, trust me,” Soap sighed. He knew his friend was joking, trying to lighten the severity but he hated the idea of sitting at home with nothing to keep him occupied. “Hopefully it won’t be a full week. Just a couple days.”</p>
<p>“You’re alright, mate,” Simon reassured. “You know I’m fuckin’ with you. I’ll be fine. It’ll just be extra quiet without you around t’ wind up.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure the others will mourn over it,” Soap returned with a subtle smirk. On the journey home, when Riley hadn’t been demanding this and that, the Scot had debated whether to tell him about Price. There was an emptiness in the air without him, frustration immeasurable knowing it’d be a while until he could comfortably draw the officer again. He could attempt it with his left hand but it wouldn’t be the same, not by a long shot. But were he to bring the man up, Simon might’ve interrogated him about it, or even gone out of his way to bring them back together. How strange to think that the other likely had Price’s number on his phone. He’d gone to such extents before, which is why Soap had learned from experience. Hell, Simon probably wouldn’t be past phoning the local police up merely to ask for Price himself. No, he’d decided – it was out of the question for the time being.</p>
<p>“You alright?”</p>
<p>The Scot was snapped from his thoughts. “Huh?”</p>
<p>“Never mind. You’re obviously still a bit frazzled. I’ll let you get some rest.”</p>
<p>He didn’t want to rest though. He didn’t want to be left to his own devices. He needed a distraction, needed <em>something</em>. Despite his inward objection, Soap resigned to his room and carefully lowered himself into his bed.</p>
<p>It wasn’t every day you came close to death. Something he’d not been exposed to in some time. His mind flicked through the images in his head of the bike slipping and his body being hurled. The searing burn as the material covering his leg was shredded and skin began to tear against the tarmac. Had he been going a little bit faster or not controlled his landing as best he did, things could’ve gone much worse for him.</p>
<p>He blinked up at the ceiling, exhaling heavily. He played back how Price emerged from the path to help, a beanie hat on his head and a snug, warm jacket covering his form. The Sergeant appeared a lot more attractive up close, which surprised the Scot seeing as it was often his luck someone looked attractive from afar and up close it was a different story. Of course, that wasn’t to say he was primarily focused on appearances, but being pretty never hurt anyone.</p>
<p>Regardless, it wasn’t likely he’d ever meet Price again. That had to be a <em>one off</em>, sheer luck on his part. There was no way he’d involve Simon. And to think he spent most of it mangled and unmoving – a total waste. Why did he keep revisiting that? Remembering the way he was certain their eyes had met across the street and the rush of panic and excitement that ran through him. Recalling every touch and smile received. Why not think about the lovely woman he met at The Barracks the other day? <em>Whatever her name was</em>. Why was he so bloody <em>fixated</em> on this damn officer?</p>
<p>Giving up for the day, Soap allowed his head to gently hit the pillow. At least a few days off work and away at home would provide necessary time to heal the utter terror he’d experienced with Makarov and his goons. Though he doubted the man would’ve forgotten, if he was even capable of doing such. He couldn’t sleep, not yet, so he closed his eyes and simply lay there – listening to the soothing rumble of car engines as they passed the apartment and the calming trickling of water coming from his fish tank.</p>
<hr/>
<p>A week had passed slower than a slug in the cold, well, three days to be exact. On the fourth day, he decided he couldn’t take being home alone all day any longer. He’d managed to get his bike back in all its damaged glory but decided against rushing to fix it up seeing as it would be some time before he’d get to ride it again. It’d been a mission to seat himself on the back of Ghost’s bike, anxious of what consequences might come but as their journey came to a close, he found himself easing. It’d have been different were it vice versa. As long as he wasn’t the one in control or liable, it took some weight off his shoulders.</p>
<p>It had felt like a breath of fresh air to see The Barracks again, though the ache in his arm reminded him of his limits. He realized it would be tough to pour drinks with one hand, but he’d make do – figure it out. Besides, Ghost had his back, what could go wrong?</p>
<p>As expected, work was no mean feat. He’d had to make use of his chin several times in order to pour drafted drinks which had taken some practice. He’d received endless comments regarding his arm,  others stating they’d noticed his absence and some informing him that no one made drinks like he did. People felt it was necessary to bore him with stories about their own injuries, some bike related, many not. Nevertheless, he listened to them, knowing they were likely looking for conversation because they wanted company. Who would he be to ignore them, or worse yet, send them away?</p>
<p>There was one older gentleman, however, who felt it was his place to tell Soap that his injury was nothing compared to a broken bone he’d had and that he should grin and bear it, which the Scot was already certain he was doing or at least trying to do. He’d had to physically excuse himself out of sight to encourage the bloke to leave him alone.</p>
<p>The day passed him by, going from rowdy to quiet and then back to rowdy again. The evening was approaching, Soap’s shift but two hours away as the sky outside threatened to dim. He lowered himself behind the bar to restock the shelf with clean glasses, minding his own business when he sensed the presence of someone waiting for him, their shadow cast over him. Grunting, he rose to his feet and subconsciously wiped away some spilled beer as he spoke. “What can I get you, mate?” He asked, gaze preoccupied until he heard them speak.</p>
<p>“Don’t tell me you work here?” The voice was dry and low, accent resembling one from somewhere in London and Soap froze, glancing up to find himself face to face with <em>Price</em>.</p>
<p>“Uh –” It took a few moments for his words to register. “Aye! I do.”</p>
<p>“Unbelievable,” Price stated, confound.</p>
<p>“Bloody small world.” Something lurched within him upon spotting the other man. There was no way this was by chance, <em>surely not</em>? Had Ghost set this up?</p>
<p>“Are you sure you’re not following me?” Price squinted, arching a brow.</p>
<p>This caused Soap to stutter. “I – what? Oh you think I crashed my bike on purpose, eh?”</p>
<p>The officer chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe. I could write you up for that, you know?”</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t dare.”</p>
<p>“Are you suggesting you’re guilty of it?”</p>
<p>“Not at all.” How had this happened? He’d gone from obsessively thinking about the man to acting like they <em>weren’t</em> complete strangers. Well, not complete but near enough. “Only thing I’m guilty of is workin’ my arse off.”</p>
<p>“I can see that…” Price muttered, clearing his throat. “How’s the arm?”</p>
<p>“Fine,” he shot back. “It’s – <em>alright</em>. Could’a been much worse.”</p>
<p>“Hard bastard.”</p>
<p>“Excuse me?” Soap raised his brows.</p>
<p>“I said you’re a hard bastard.”</p>
<p>“Is that sarcasm?” He’d had his fill about how he was lucky it was only a sprain.</p>
<p>“No, I’m being serious. Most people would use that as an excuse t’ stay at home in bed,” Price said.</p>
<p>“Never,” truth be told, he’d suffered worse.</p>
<p>“Did you manage to get your bike back?”</p>
<p>“I did, thankfully.”</p>
<p>“And is she fixable?”</p>
<p>A shiver ran up his spine – <em>she</em>. Soap hated when people referred to his bike as an inanimate object, as an <em>it</em>. If people could get away with doing it for a country, why couldn’t he with his motorcycle? After all, she meant more to him than any woman had – other than his mother. “She is, though I think I’ll wait for my arm t’ heal before I try anything.”</p>
<p>“Probably f’ the best.”</p>
<p>The Scot realized in that moment that he knew next to nothing about this man he spent so often thinking about. Admittedly, he wasn’t the best at getting invested and asking questions. He was a good listener, but unless someone prompted a conversation he didn’t think to ask. “Tell me somethin’ about yourself,” he requested boldly.</p>
<p>Price paused, tilting his head at the apparent challenge. “Like what?”</p>
<p>“Anything. I recall tellin’ you an awful lot about me, so it’s your turn.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” There was a faint smirk on the older man’s lips. “Ask me something.”</p>
<p>“What made you join the police?”</p>
<p>The Sergeant scoffed. “That’s the best you could do?”</p>
<p>“Just <em>answer</em> it.”</p>
<p>“Fine. I like helping people. Left the military… Wanted t’ do something where I’m out and about.”</p>
<p>“How long have you been an officer?”</p>
<p>“Couple years.”</p>
<p>“Were you in the military f’ long?” Soap was cautious not to overwhelm him.</p>
<p>“Roughly 16 years.”</p>
<p>There was a pause as Soap judged whether it was appropriate for him to ask his next question. “And you’re…”</p>
<p>“Thirty-four.”</p>
<p>“Thirty-four?”</p>
<p>Price’s lips curved. “Is that bad?”</p>
<p>“What? Ah – no!” Soap defended. He just looked good… <em>really</em> good. “I just… wasn’t expectin’ tha’ for some reason.”</p>
<p>“What <em>were</em> you expecting?”</p>
<p>“I honestly don’t know. I suppose you just… look good is all. For your age, I mean… not that you’re old… ah –”</p>
<p>“That’s very kind of you, Soap,” Price hummed, paying no mind to the verbal stumble. “It’s important when you’re chasing people down.”</p>
<p>The Scot swallowed. “D’ you… do a lot of that? Chasin’, I mean. Of criminals. Because what else would you be chasin’?” It was all going downhill, he could feel it. How could you <em>not</em>? Despite his cataclysmic disaster of a conversation, Price didn’t appear to be deterred. Quite the opposite, in fact, for the man seemed to subtly lean in – his attention focusing on Soap.</p>
<p>“Not much, no. It’s a shame <em>and</em> it’s not.”</p>
<p>“Whys that?” He was grateful Price was a good conversationalist.</p>
<p>“When I do have to, there’s an element of thrill to it. And if you nick ‘em, it’s even better. But with it comes its dangers, especially when the ones your chasing are armed with something. Nothing compared to what I used to do.”</p>
<p>“Christ, that does sound dangerous. Have you ever… been injured before? Because of that, I mean.”</p>
<p>“I have.”</p>
<p>“Shite, really?” Soap bit his lip, concern etched into his features.</p>
<p>“Nothing life-threatening. I’ve taken a few nasty punches before, someone snagged me with a knife.”</p>
<p>“A knife?” Soap repeated, voice lifting.</p>
<p>“All part of the job, though,” he shrugged. “Again, there are worse things t’ face.”</p>
<p>“Sounds like you’re the hard bastard,” Soap smirked.</p>
<p>“Well, I don’t have nearly enough nerve to ride a motorcycle.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Soap arched a brow, wondering whether he was joking.</p>
<p>“Really. Always preferred cars – four wheels are always better than two, though I’m sure you’d disagree.”</p>
<p>“You already know me so well,” Soap jested. A pleasant silence fell between them, their gazes exchanging for a moment which led to the Scot frantically changing the subject. “Ah – would you uh – like somethin’ t’ drink, Sergeant? A pint or two?”</p>
<p>“Tempting, but I can’t. I’m on duty,” Price informed, gesturing to his police kit which Soap was struggling to keep from roaming with his eyes. It was between that, the man’s face or the wall that stood conveniently just behind the other. He worried that if he gave in, he’d never be able to draw his gaze away. “Mind gettin’ me and PC Garrick some tea?”</p>
<p>Soap’s expression contorted at the name. It was the other officer who’d been there when he crashed, he remembered the name – though no one was visible that he could see.</p>
<p>“‘e’s over there…” Price gestured over to one of the tables. Garrick gave a nod in his direction, not looking best pleased and Soap realized he was probably waiting for said tea while he sat chatting to Price. “Didn’t mean t’ leave the poor bastard this long…”</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry –” Soap fumbled, reaching for a mug. “I didn’t realize –”</p>
<p>“No, no,” Price assured. “You’re alright. Fatal mistake, startin’ a conversation with me.”</p>
<p>“Fatal, but a pleasure nevertheless.” The look the older man gave him sent a chill down his back and he swiftly reached for the recently-boiled water. A sharp pain shot down his right arm, however, making him jerk and race to place the pot down, in turn causing a spurt of scorching water to hit his hand. Fighting the urge to hiss a string of curses, he instead let out a strained hum and pressed his left hand to his chest as though that’d do any good.</p>
<p>Price looked at him, almost incredulously. There was an intensity in his gaze that suggested he wanted to help, brows raised as he fought back the desire to aid the younger man. “You really aren’t having a good week, are you, Soap?” Price tried joke, sympathy on his features when Soap frowned at him. “Put your hand under some cold water.”</p>
<p>Amid his panic, Soap’s gaze flicked around for something cold that wasn’t the tray of ice waiting to fill paying customers’ glasses. “Shite, I’m so sorry I’ll – I’ll be right back t’ do those teas…”</p>
<p>The Sergeant gave a nod and a warm smile. “Go on.”</p>
<p>Making a mad dash for the kitchen, he narrowly missed knocking his arm against the doorframe as he made his way to the sink. The cold tap was turned on and he shoved his hand under it, letting out a taut whimper.</p>
<p>“What <em>you</em> up to?” Ghost’s voice nearly had him dropping to the floor.</p>
<p>“Fuck, Ghost, I burned my hand.”</p>
<p>“I can see that. But I’m on about Price. You don’t like t’ hold a conversation f’ more than a few bloody minutes, mate.”</p>
<p>“Guess I’m just chatty today…” Soap excused.</p>
<p>“Add to that this clumsy burn and the sweat on your fore’ead.”</p>
<p>“Sweat on my… Christ Ghost, just bugger off, won’t ya?”</p>
<p>Ghost paused, glancing out the door’s window at the older man. “Ironic, that.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“How Price looks exactly like the imaginary officer in your journal.”</p>
<p>“How the fuck d’ you remember that?” Soap scowled over his shoulder, keeping his voice at a whisper, encouraging Ghost to do the same so he could at least avoid the humiliation of the whole damn kitchen knowing.</p>
<p>“You’re my mate, Soap. Why wouldn’t I remember what you’re interested in drawing?”</p>
<p>There was a beat where the Scot felt guilty for expecting any less from the man who’d always been there for him through everything. “‘m sorry, Ghost I’m just… shite. <em>Yes</em> that’s the guy in my journal.”</p>
<p>“I <em>knew</em> it.”</p>
<p>“<em>And</em> I’m makin’ a bloody mess of myself ‘cause of him and I have <em>no idea</em> what I’m doing.”</p>
<p>“Sort yourself out, mate. You’ve got no reason t’ be this worried? You’ve seen how people swoon over you. Price is a top lad. He’d treat you right as rain.”</p>
<p>A shiver danced up his spine. “Aye but this is… <em>different</em>.”</p>
<p>“Oh?”</p>
<p>Soap gazed up at his friend, allowing him to read his nervous expression. “I don’t wanna scare him away.”</p>
<p>“You won’t. Not if you just be yourself, mate. ‘s worked so far, innit?”</p>
<p>Biting his lip, the Scot shrugged. “I guess.”</p>
<p>“Go on ‘en, get back out there.”</p>
<p>With newfound confidence, Soap carefully dried his hand and then made his way out of the kitchen door, head held high and lips parted to speak to Price who… wasn’t there. Wait, what? He searched the room, glancing over to the table PC Garrick had been at to see if the older man had perhaps rejoined his friend and that if Garrick was alone then maybe he’d nipped to the toilets but neither men were to be seen.</p>
<p>Disappointment hit him in the gut and his shoulders drooped. He’d probably scared him away long ago and Price was merely too polite to get up and walk away. He likely saw Soap’s absence as an opportunity to escape, the mental image of the man ushering his friend out the door before he returned vivid and mortifying. With a heavy sigh, he tightened his lips into a straight line and turned to face a new customer. “What can I get you?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>oof, why would price vanish like that???</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A few days had passed since the hot water incident. Soap had seen no sign of Price nor Garrick – no apologies, no explanations. Then again, he hardly knew the older man if he was being honest, though it felt like he’d known him for some time. Price owed him nothing and could effectively avoid him for years to come. “Christ,” he muttered. “Listen t’ yourself. So stupid.” He’d been sulking ever since it happened, furious at himself for messing up in such a colossal and humiliating way. Subtlety had always been his strong point, covert and well-planned. He wasn’t used to this fast-paced <em>romantic</em> growth, hadn’t experienced the swooning thump of his heart until meeting Price despite them having only met a few times. Soap gave an exasperated sigh, burying himself in his journal. His lunch break was often the one time in the day he allowed himself to reflect on things.</p>
<p>In the distance, a helicopter could be seen passing over Hereford, likely travelling to Credenhill and Soap began sketching it. His pencil danced across the page, working around other sketches of dogs and guns. He’d just finished the rotary blades when the smell of cigars enveloped him, trailing over exposed skin and clogging his nose – it was intoxicating. The voice that followed had him pinned to his chair. “Sorry for disappearing the other day.”</p>
<p>The Scot peered up from his journal with admittedly wide eyes. It was Price! But why was he here? Soap’s head had been down, he hadn’t even spotted the older man. He had made the choice to come over, to speak with him. There was no obligation, he could’ve walked straight by and Soap never would’ve known. “Oh – ah – that’s um, not a problem. Can’t blame you, what with my numpty antics. I’d have probably bolted too.”</p>
<p>Price’s gaze hardened. “Believe it or not I was actually very disappointed that I had to leave.”</p>
<p>Soap arched a brow. “You – sorry, what?”</p>
<p>“We got called out before you came back. Obviously we can’t leave people hangin’ about. I would’ve waited, otherwise. Gaz was pretty pissed off that he didn’t get ‘is tea though.” Price’s lips curved at the thought.</p>
<p>All this energy and worry for no reason – simply because he got called out on a job. Because he’s a police officer and that’s what happens. Soap felt his cheeks begin to heat, what an idiot! “Oh. That’s uh – well that’s not a problem. I apologize for… not getting that tea done.” He gave a nervous chuckle, lifting his cup to drink some coffee.</p>
<p>“How’s the hand?”</p>
<p>“Ah, fine.” He moved to gesture to his injured arm.</p>
<p>“No I – well, that one too but I meant the burn.”</p>
<p>Soap blinked. “Both are fine, thank you. Seems every time we cross paths, I bloody injure myself somehow.” There was a pause as he shot Price a concerned look, glancing over his shoulder and at his surroundings. “Hope I didn’t jus’ jinx that.”</p>
<p>Price smirked. “I won’t lie, I have a habit of bringing bad luck around with me.”</p>
<p>“I don’t believe that for a second.”</p>
<p>“Why not?”</p>
<p>“You just… look like the kinda guy who gets lucky all the time. You’re very calm and collected, as though everything jus’… falls into place f’ you.”</p>
<p>“<em>Sometimes</em> it does,” Price admitted, breath in his voice as he studied Soap’s expression. His gaze diverted when eye contact was held for too long and opted to look at the journal in the other’s grasp. “You draw?”</p>
<p>Soap strained to hold back the desire to slam his book shut, primarily due to Price’s face being sketched on the following page. He resisted, however, giving a hesitant nod. “I do. Though it’s more doodling than anything. Nothin’ special.”</p>
<p>“I disagree,” Price stated. “Those are very good. Bartender <em>and</em> an artist – you’ve got talented hands.”</p>
<p>The Scot nearly choked mid coffee sip at the other’s words. “It’s not often someone compliments me on my hands.” Especially not ridiculously attractive and handsome, older men.</p>
<p>“Well I’m sure you get plenty about your overall appearance.” Price cleared his throat, pointing to the journal. “Can I have a look?”</p>
<p>The book was handed over, fingers grazing Price’s for no more than a second in the exchange and Soap concluded it wasn’t enough. “Sure.” Teeth gritted as he hoped Price didn’t try to turn the page. There were some beats of silence that had Soap on the edge of his seat in anticipation as Price’s finger seemed to trace the helicopter blades.</p>
<p>“These are detailed.”</p>
<p>“They’re kinda rough, actually. Need some more attention.”</p>
<p>“Hm.” The journal was thankfully handed back. “You draw a lot in that?”</p>
<p>“My journal? Aye. Kind of a hobby, actually. Just… takes my mind off things. Find it relaxing.”</p>
<p>“Like me with my cigars.”</p>
<p>Soap opened his mouth to mention how he’d picked up on the smell but decided it could come across as weird. Instead, he gave a nod. “Oh, you’re a cigar kinda guy, are you?”</p>
<p>“I am. Always have been.”</p>
<p>“I’ve never tried one before.”</p>
<p>The Sergeant’s expression was priceless. “You – that’s a bloody shame, that is.”</p>
<p>“Am I missin’ out?” Soap joked.</p>
<p>“Missing out…” Price repeated with a scoff. “They are, in their own way, a form of art.”</p>
<p>“Ah, a connoisseur of sorts, are you?”</p>
<p>“I just appreciate quality,” Price defended with an arch of his brow. Again, their gazes locked which prompted Price to reach into one of his vest’s pouches. “Tell you what,” a sealed bag containing a cigar is retrieved and held out to the younger. “Have one of mine.”</p>
<p>Soap was caught off-guard by the offer, raising his hands as though he’d been accused of something. “Woah, hey – you don’t have t’ do that, Price.”</p>
<p>“Go on, keep it on you in case you fancy giving it a try. If you find you hate it, just toss it in the bin.”</p>
<p>As though he’d throw such a treasured gift in the garbage. Carefully, the bag is taken and tucked into the pocket of his jacket. “Y’ know, for an officer of the law you’re not a very good influence.”</p>
<p>“Never said I was,” Price gave a broad, warm smile as his hands reached up to grasp at the top of his tactical vest.</p>
<p>“This is true,” Soap shrugged, though it greatly excited him. He wondered what other guilty pleasures the man had. What he liked, what he hated… what got him <em>going</em>.</p>
<p>From behind them, PC Garrick walked to Price’s side. “Lunch ends in two minutes, Sarge. You almost ready?”</p>
<p>Price’s mood appeared to change at the information. “Right, cheers Gaz.”</p>
<p>“Afternoon, Gaz,” Soap greeted. “Massive apologies for you not gettin’ your tea the other day…”</p>
<p>“Ah, not a problem, mate. It’s good t’ see Price here makin’ <em>friends</em>. Couldn’t bring myself to break you two apart – never seen you so absorbed in conversation before, Sergeant,” Gaz stated with a grin. Price shot back a deadly glare to which Gaz only chuckled. “He’s lucky I’m ‘ere. Would spend ‘is whole day talking t’ you if ‘e could.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Gaz,” Price grunted, using a hand to guide his colleague away. “Do excuse <em>him</em>.”</p>
<p>Soap let out a breathy laugh that recaptured Price’s attention. “Oh I am much too familiar with friends that don’t have filters. Ghost is <em>exactly</em> the same. Always lookin’ t’ embarrass me.”</p>
<p>“Don’t I know it. Blessing and a curse,” Price agreed with a hum. His gaze flicked back to the journal, eyeing it for a moment before looking back to Soap. “You mind if I… write something down in that?”</p>
<p>Surprised by the question, Soap found himself locating a clean page and handing it over without thinking amid internal panic.</p>
<p>“Great. Bear with me,” Price requested, taking the pencil and scribbling something down at the top of the page. Once finished, the journal was closed and handed back. “Right then, s’pose I ought t’ head back to the car. Glad I was able to catch you, Soap.”</p>
<p>“Oh – uh, it was good seeing you, Price!” He wanted to tell him to stay safe, to take care but his lips sealed in objection. He watched as the officer rounded the corner, leaving Soap perched on a seat outside his favourite café as he’d been found. Biting his lip, he turned to his journal and frowned. What could Price have possibly written in there? Unable to hold back any longer, he began flicking through to find the previously blank page. Locating it, he stopped to read the message. Above it was what appeared to be a phone number in larger writing, followed by:</p>
<p>Sorry again for the vanishing act. Free time wasn’t on the job description – never really been a problem until now, but I’d really like to talk to you more often. Feel free to text or call me if the feeling is mutual. See you around, Price.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Hang on, so he gave you his number?” Simon asked, mask covering his face though Soap could tell from his tone he was grinning like an idiot.</p>
<p>“I… guess, yeah.”</p>
<p>“You don’t seem happy about it?”</p>
<p>Soap bit his lip. “I – I am. I’m over-bloody-joyed I just… there’s a whole lot more to it than hooking up or whatever. This could… this could be serious, Simon.”</p>
<p>“Thought that’s what you’ve wanted all this time?”</p>
<p>“It is!”</p>
<p>“Then… what’s the problem, mate?”</p>
<p>“I suppose I jus’ didn’t think it’d happen? I mean he’s wonderful. He really is somethin’, I can’t get enough of talking to him and he’s got the smoothest voice and smells amazing – and when he leaves all I can think about is when he’s coming back.”</p>
<p>“Wow,” Ghost hummed. “You’re head over heels, Soap.”</p>
<p>“Am not,” the Scot grunted. He rolled his eyes at the skeptical head tilt he received. “Fine, fine. Maybe a tiny bit.”</p>
<p>“Right.”</p>
<p>“Shut up. That’s beside the point, anyway.”</p>
<p>“And what was the point, again?”</p>
<p>“Well he gave me his number, which is great it means I can contact him whenever, wherever. But I can’t help but feel… kinda shite knowing it won’t be face t’ face. I know he’s got little time to himself, I get that but… <em>I don’t know</em>. I guess I’d just like to have him t’ myself without any bloody interruptions!”</p>
<p>“Then ask ‘im <em>out</em>! None of this… <em>whatever this is</em>. Can’t wait for shit like this to pass you by, Soap.”</p>
<p>“Out?” Soap raised his brows. “I – Christ, I don’t think I could do that.”</p>
<p>“Sure you could. You sit in the living room and watch tv with me, what’s so different doing the same with him?”</p>
<p>“Because <em>we’re</em> not dating, Simon,” Soap scowled.</p>
<p>“Then don’t think of it as a <em>date</em>! Just invite him ‘round as a friend. Or better yet, go out somewhere. Tell ‘im you want t’ get t’ know ‘im better.”</p>
<p>As much as Soap didn’t want to admit it, Riley was right. So far, Price had been the one making all the effort. It wasn’t that the Scot didn’t want to, but rather, he feared the potential outcome.</p>
<p>“Worst thing he could say is <em>no</em>.”</p>
<p>“Oh you’re right, Riley,” Soap stated. “That’s the <em>worst</em> thing. What could go wrong? If he says no I’ll just… move on with my life. Nothing gives you motivation like being rejected by your ultimate crush!”</p>
<p>“Don’t be so dramatic. Did you give ‘im <em>your</em> number?”</p>
<p>“No. Why?”</p>
<p>“Well because mate, ‘e’s put the ball in your court. You’ve at least gotta text ‘im, since ‘e can’t text you. He wants t’ find out if you’re interested.”</p>
<p>“What? I – d’ you <em>think</em>?”</p>
<p>“Definitely! Seeing as ‘e’s the one that’s actively been seekin’ <em>you</em> out.”</p>
<p>Again, Simon was probably right. Since when was that a thing? It was bloody annoying! Sighing, Soap shrugged. “I guess.”</p>
<p>“So send ‘im a text. If ‘e rejects you at least it ‘ent face t’ face. Though I <em>know</em> the wanker, and ‘e wouldn’t both’a givin’ you ‘is number in the first place if ‘e didn’t think you’re worth ‘is time.”</p>
<p>Soap glared at the other. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”</p>
<p>“You’re very welcome,” Simon barked back, giving his friend a firm pat on the back as he left the bar to tend to the restaurant.</p>
<p>It took a few moments of self-encouragement for him to draw out his phone, staring at the device like it’d explode in his hands. The journal was already resting on the bar from when he’d shown Simon the message. He typed up and saved the number to his contacts and opened a new message log. With brows furrowed in concentration, he typed:<br/><br/></p>
<p>
  <strike>[ Hey Price, hope you’re doing well, thanks for </strike>
</p>
<p><br/>“Fuck,” he hissed, deleting what he’d put and started again:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>[ Price, it’s Soap. Was good to see you yesterday, <br/>thanks again for the cigar! ] 14:36<br/><br/></p>
<p>There was a sudden realization that he had yet to try it. He sent the text, dipping his phone back into his pocket while turning to serve a customer.</p>
<p>Opposite him stood a familiar woman, red curls flowing down her back – as untamed as the wind. She wore a subtle smile, head coyly bowed as she addressed him. “Hiya John.”</p>
<p>It took him a second to recall who she was, despite the Scot being particularly good with faces. It was the woman who’d spoken to him a while ago, though unfortunately he wasn’t nearly as good with names. “Uh–”</p>
<p>“Cassie,” the woman reminded him.</p>
<p>“Ah – Cassie, right. Sorry about that, get a lot of people coming through here.” He tried his best to express his disinterest. If someone was important enough to you then you’d make the effort to remember them, like he did with Price. “Can I get you somethin’ to drink?”</p>
<p>“Sure! I’ll have some tea, please. Bit too early for drinks.”</p>
<p>“I’d say that depends on the kinda day you’ve had,” Soap replied with a shrug. Nevertheless, he flicked the water on to heat up and turned his attention to putting her cash into the register. He could feel her gaze on him, expectant and anticipating. That was when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. <em>Price had texted back</em>. He wanted to grab his phone immediately and read it, begrudgingly ignoring it knowing it’d be bad etiquette. The tea was poured into a mug and handed over, hands unshaking this time and it made him realize how jittery Price made him, in a good way – he supposed. “That everything for you?” If he could scrape a few minutes to himself to reply to the text…</p>
<p>“Actually,” Cassie began, and Soap’s heart rose into his throat. “I was hoping to ask you something!”</p>
<p>Although everyone in the pub was minding their own business, Soap still felt like their eyes were all on him. “Uh – of course.”</p>
<p>“I was wondering if… you’d maybe like to go out for drinks sometime? Maybe some food too, if you wanna?”</p>
<p>His throat went dry at the question. Typically, unless he really did not want to go, he’d say yes for something to do. It rarely ended with anything more than a full belly and a good night of sleep, however, in the back of his mind he desperately wanted to say no this time around. He would much rather do that with Price. In fact, a member of the royal fucking family could ask him out and he’d turn them down. <em>You’re not even dating Price</em>, he thought to himself. Yet, in his gut he believed it’d be some type of betrayal to go through with it. “Ah – I’m… sorry, Cassie I can’t do that. I’m afraid I’m… <em>seeing</em> someone at the moment.”</p>
<p>“It doesn’t have to mean anything, we could just hang out,” Cassie tried again.</p>
<p>“No,” Soap said firmly. “Sorry, I wouldn’t feel right about it. I appreciate the offer though.”</p>
<p>By this point, she’d had no more than a few sips of her drink. “Alright, that’s not a problem, I guess. I uh – I’ve got to head off but have a good day!” Soap watched as she shifted off the stool and exited the pub, leaving him with her unfinished drink. The discomfort didn’t last long upon remembering about the text. Soap took out his phone and opened the new message, chewing on his lower lip.<br/><br/></p>
<p><br/>[ Have you tried it yet? ] 14:41<br/><br/><br/></p>
<p>A hand subconsciously squeezed at the mass hidden in his pocket, brows rising as he debated giving it a try. If cigars did indeed take some time to smoke, then a break wouldn’t be enough to savour it.<br/><br/></p>
<p><br/>[ Not yet. Currently at work and don’t <br/>think anyone would appreciate me carrying <br/>that heaviness through the pub. ] 14:42<br/><br/></p>
<p>Several moments later and his phone went off again.<br/><br/></p>
<p>[ The heaviness of the smoke you mean? Do you not like it? ] 14:43<br/><br/><br/></p>
<p><br/>[ On the contrary, I love it. But the balance is easy to upset in here. ] 14:43<br/><br/></p>
<p><br/>He ended up putting the phone away again when Price took longer than a few minutes to respond. More drinks were served before it rumbled in his pocket. <br/><br/><br/></p>
<p>[ Good to know. Been up to much today? ] 14:47<br/><br/><br/></p>
<p>Thinking of you, he wanted to write.<br/><br/></p>
<p><br/>[ Serving drinks, faking smiles – the usual. You? ] 14:47</p>
<p><br/>[ Faking smiles, eh? You do that with me, too? And not much. <br/>Only had three people in my car today, two of which were myself and Gaz. ] 14:48<br/><br/><br/></p>
<p>Soap thought about how in the times he’d met with Price, at no point had he felt the need to fake anything.<br/><br/></p>
<p>[ Nope, those come naturally with you around. <br/>Hope they didn’t cause you too much trouble. ] 14:48<br/><br/></p>
<p><br/>[ Nothing I couldn’t handle. <br/>I’m sure you get your own trouble in that pub, which reminds me. <br/>I don’t think you ever told me how old you are. ] 14:49<br/><br/></p>
<p>[ 30. ] 14:49<br/><br/></p>
<p>[ I don’t believe you. ] 14:50<br/><br/></p>
<p>[ I am! ] 14:50<br/><br/></p>
<p>[ Remarkable. You put me to shame. ] 14:50<br/><br/></p>
<p>[ Hardly. You’ve got experience on your side. ] 14:50<br/><br/></p>
<p>[ Experience is overrated when <br/>you’ve only got Gaz to share it with. ] 14:51<br/><br/></p>
<p>[ I’m sure he’s very grateful. ] 14:51<br/><br/></p>
<p>[ He’s alright, a good lad. Lot to learn still. <br/>Sometimes I feel like I chew his ear off a bit too much. ] 14:52<br/><br/></p>
<p>[ Well I’m always around if you ever think he needs a break from it. ] 14:52<br/><br/></p>
<p>[ I’ll bear that in mind. You working tomorrow evening? <br/>I’ve got a night off and was thinking of coming in for a pint. ] 14:53<br/><br/><br/></p>
<p>Soap couldn’t help but wonder if he’d proceed with that plan, were he to be unavailable.<br/><br/></p>
<p><br/>[ I am. Will Gaz be joining you? ] 14:53<br/><br/></p>
<p>[ No, he’s got his own plans. Just me, I’m afraid. ] 14:53<br/><br/><br/></p>
<p>No interruptions, Soap smiled.</p>
<p><br/>[ Then I look forward to seeing you. <br/>There are definitely more exciting things <br/>to be doing than standing behind this bar. ] 14:54<br/><br/></p>
<p><br/>[ Certainly are. Do you manage to do much, other than work? ] 14:54<br/><br/><br/></p>
<p>[ If you’re asking whether I get out <br/>of the apartment often then no, <br/>not as much as I’d like to. ] 14:54<br/><br/></p>
<p><br/>[ What would you do if you had the time? ] 14:55<br/><br/><br/></p>
<p>Soap paused to ponder. What <em>would</em> he do? He imagined going places with Price, exploring historical sites, going on hikes or riding around the countryside on his motorcycle. <br/><br/><br/></p>
<p>[ I enjoy relaxation. Walks, learning, landscapes, drawing. <br/>Ghost is the complete opposite to me, <br/>which is why I don’t often do those things since <br/>where’s the fun in doing it alone. ] 14:56<br/><br/></p>
<p><br/>[ Maybe I could come out with you one day. <br/>When I’m not on duty, that is. ] 14:56<br/><br/><br/></p>
<p>[ I’d like that, Price. Maybe I could teach you <br/>to ride a motorbike. ] 14:57<br/><br/></p>
<p><br/>[ Good luck with that. ] 14:57<br/><br/><br/></p>
<p>He was grinning like an idiot, though it faltered when he noticed someone waiting for him at the bar. He fumbled to tuck his phone away. “You alright mate? What can I get ya?”</p>
<p>“Pint of coke please, and a glass of water,” the bloke requested, which Soap promptly provided.</p>
<p>Once the customer returned to his table, Soap was back on his phone again.<br/><br/></p>
<p><br/>[ You underestimate me. ] 14:58<br/><br/></p>
<p>[ Nothing personal, I just know it’s not gonna happen. ] 14:58<br/><br/><br/></p>
<p>[ Sure. Okay, Price. See you tomorrow. ] 14:58</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>price is smoother than i could ever hope to be.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>warning: road accident mention ahead!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Soap and Ghost had been on an evening rota for at least a week, working during the day when that switched every now and again – which he never minded, although having the entire day off to anticipate and work himself up over meeting Price that evening wasn’t a sensible idea.</p>
<p>“I’m barely gonna get t’ talk t’ him,” Soap complained, leaning his head back against the sofa. “What if we’re busy? I’ll be on the move constantly.”</p>
<p>“We’re never <em>that</em> busy, mate,” Ghost reasoned. “Stop panicking about it, you’ll be fine. Could ask him t’ come over during your break?”</p>
<p>“That’s only thirty minutes…”</p>
<p>“Christ, mate, it’s better than <em>nothing</em>.”</p>
<p>Soap sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “Aye, you’re right, you’re right. I just… want this t’ go well, y’ know?”</p>
<p>“Well it won’t if you overthink it.”</p>
<p>He clicked and pointed his index finger in acknowledgement. “Right again.”</p>
<p>“Have faith in yourself, MacTavish.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>With time to spare, Soap located the cigar he’d left in his jacket and carefully removed it from the plastic bag. There was a previously-damp piece of tissue paper tucked beneath it, which Soap placed back into the bag before discarding it into the bin. He held the cigar like it’d break under the slightest pressure, forehead lined with concentration as he assessed the object. A form of art, Price had said. Therefore, he’d savour it like a lover of art would a painting.</p>
<p>Soap left the apartment and pressed his back against the wall near the door, plucking his lighter from his pocket which he used to light the end of the cigar. It was gently placed between his lips and he attempted to mimic how he’d seen others use them. He drew a puff of smoke into his mouth and held his breath, though the burn at the back of his throat caused him to choke and splutter. After calming himself, he tried again – better this time. He’d smoked cigarettes before, however, this was a whole different kettle of fish. The nicotine hit hard, harder than he’d expected, and he found himself intoxicated by the rich smell whirling around him and heating his mouth. He wondered if it mimicked how Price’s kiss would taste. Whether you could sense the use of cigars on his tongue, as you could in his voice when he spoke. A shiver ran up his spine and he took another drag.</p>
<p>“You’ve got taste, Price, I’ll give you that.”</p>
<hr/>
<p><br/>His shift couldn’t have arrived <em>too soon</em>, an unusual frame of mind but nevertheless, he hitched a ride with Ghost – mostly because he didn’t trust himself to focus on driving. He’d learnt his lesson from before. He’d be working from 5pm to 11pm, and told Price to make an appearance around 8:00pm when he’d be taking his first break. Any later and he’d risk the rowdier groups interrupting or talking over them. Soap wanted things to run perfectly, hoped he wouldn’t mess up and do something stupid like pour hot water on himself… a <em>second</em> time.</p>
<p>While he worked, an avid eye regularly lingered towards the front door – anticipating Price’s arrival. As the evening passed by and 8pm slowly approached, this became even more prominent to the point where he was stopping every few minutes to look for the man. However, it was the moment his gaze dipped down to check something on the register that the familiar voice blessed his ears.</p>
<p>“Hope I’m not too early.”</p>
<p>Soap glanced up from the bar and smiled, working to keep from full on grinning – pleased to see Price opposite him. “Price! No, no it’s fine I’ll be finished in about five minutes, if you don’t mind waiting?”</p>
<p>“‘course not,” Price replied, gesturing to a stool. “Am I alright to seat myself?”</p>
<p>“Bar seats aren’t reservable so yes, shouldn’t cause any problems.” Soap paused, wanting to test for boundaries. “Although you might be subjecting me to a distraction while I work.”</p>
<p>“Well now that would be a problem, wouldn’t it?” Price hummed. He adorned a handsome, navy jacket, with a navy and white checkered inner lining, which fitted him nicely; a t-shirt to match the jacket and a daring pair of dark grey jeans. The only casual outfit he’d seen Price in so far was when he’d assisted the Scot after his crash – and understandably, Soap could barely recall it. He was attractive, facial hair well kept and his hair <em>just</em> long enough for Soap to run his hands through, he thought and inwardly scolded himself. Not that he was going to, but if the offer came up for some reason…</p>
<p>“I don’t mind,” MacTavish shrugged. “You’re a <em>welcome</em> distraction, Price.”</p>
<p>The Sergeant seated himself and placed his palms on the bar’s polished surface. “I prefer to be the <em>encourager</em>,” he stated. “Would hate to keep you from achieving things.”</p>
<p>“Trust me,” Soap began. “The only thing I achieve <em>here</em> is a nice looking coffee.”</p>
<p>“And how about a nice looking pint of beer? You any good at those?”</p>
<p>“I’ll let <em>you</em> be the judge of that. Full disclosure, however – I <em>don’t</em> make the beer myself.”</p>
<p>“Strike one already, then. Not looking good,” Price joked with a smirk.</p>
<p>Fetching a glass, Soap poured out a pint for his company and placed it in front of him. When Price reached for his wallet, the Scot shook his head. “Don’t worry about that, it’s on me.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense, Soap, that’s kind of you but –”</p>
<p>While Price was trying to argue, Soap untucked his card and swiped it, prompting Price to fall quiet. “<em>Oops</em>.”</p>
<p>He decided not to fight it and sighed, huffing with amusement. “<em>Thank you</em>.”</p>
<p>“You’re very welcome. That all I can get you?”</p>
<p>“<em>I’m</em> driving home, and my shift starts early t’morrow so yes, that’s all.”</p>
<p>“Ah, busy bee, eh?”</p>
<p>“It’s consistent, I suppose,” Price said, reaching for his glass to take a sip. “Hm, you know, it’s <em>not bad</em>.”</p>
<p>“Can be –” Soap found himself struggling to keep from admiring Price drinking, the movement of his throat as he swallowed – he averted his gaze to the bar, “– quite tough, I imagine, finding time for other things?” At the other’s comment, he chuckled. “Good, we <em>value</em> customer feedback.”</p>
<p>Price nodded. “To a degree. Truth be told, I rarely have anything to find time <em>for</em>. Though I suppose you <em>could</em> say that’s because there’s little point in me looking, <em>due</em> to time restraints.”</p>
<p>The Scot glanced at his watch, noting his break was beginning. “Break starts now,” he explained and rounded the bar to seat himself beside Price – one stool between them because he didn’t want to be <em>too</em> forward. “You mentioned before that you were in the military?”</p>
<p>“Army, yes,” Price’s gaze followed Soap to his seat, the corner of his lip subconsciously twitching. “SAS after that.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Soap nodded. It made sense, considering he’d worked alongside Ghost. There was something fascinating about that, the idea of Price knowing exactly how the lifestyle worked – shared experiences. Many people Soap came across couldn’t comprehend it. “Royal Marine, myself. Always fancied Special Forces… Unfortunately, circumstances kept me from progressing.”</p>
<p>“I remember you saying, back at the hospital. Makes more sense that you spend your time with Simon, or rather, <em>he’d </em>spend his time with you.” Price shot him a knowing glance, since Simon rarely associated with anyone outside of what he’s familiar with. “Shame about those circumstances, though. Who knows, could’a met a lot sooner.” That made Soap’s stomach knot, the idea of meeting Price as a team mate – living life on the edge together… “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”</p>
<p>The knot tightened. “Ah – it was –” He gathered his thoughts. “Bike crash. Much worse than my last.”</p>
<p>Price’s brows raised and then furrowed sympathetically. “Were you injured?”</p>
<p>He swallowed, eyes glazing over as he stared at an empty glass nearby. “Aye, mentally, <em>mostly</em>. I uh – a good friend was on the back, he didn’t survive.” Desperately, his mind tried to depart, emotions threatening to disconnect.</p>
<p>The Sergeant placed a careful palm on his shoulder and gave a gentle, reassuring nudge. “Sorry t’ hear that, Soap.”</p>
<p>“Ah –” he tried to brush it off, failing. “These things happen. It was more the… guilt that came with it. What with bein’ the driver.”</p>
<p>“Mm,” Price agreed. “I was a Captain, you know. Had a team I was in charge of, experienced losing some of ‘em. I <em>understand</em>.”</p>
<p>“A <em>Captain</em>, eh?” Soap pushed to change the subject. “So you’re <em>really</em> <strong>Captain</strong> Price.”</p>
<p>“I was. Different ranks and roles in the police.”</p>
<p>“I see. Captain definitely suits you better.”</p>
<p>“What makes you say that?” Price asked, taking another swig of his beer.</p>
<p>“Well, you seem like a bloke in control, I suppose. Reckon you know what you’re doin’.”</p>
<p>“Depends on the circumstance. There’s a lot I still ‘ave no clue about, strengths and weaknesses – like anybody else.”</p>
<p>“<em>Humble</em>,” Soap noted.</p>
<p>“Cynical, I’d say. I’ve met a lot of people – nobody’s perfect.”</p>
<p>“Huh. Peel another layer off t’ find another beneath it. You’re a fascinating guy, Price, y’ know that?”</p>
<p>“I’ve been told. Means more coming from you, however.”</p>
<p>Soap blinked. “How so?”</p>
<p>“From one fascinating bloke to another, it can be hard t’ hold people’s attention, these days. Takes a lot to impress the majority.”</p>
<p><em>I’m fascinated every time you take a breath in my general vicinity</em>, Soap thought to himself. “I know what you mean. I don’t often even <em>try</em> to impress anymore.”</p>
<p>“Well you’ve managed to impress me,” Price admitted. “More than once, in fact.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Two crashes <em>and</em> a military career? I stand by my past observation – you’re quite the hard bastard.”</p>
<p>Soap was growing more and more aware of the involuntary shake stirring in his hands, the pace of his heart picking up. He attempted to hide it by clasping them in his lap. “I don’t know about that. More so, just a bit of a nutter, probably.” He paused. “Uh – I revoke that, actually. I’m safely <em>sane</em>.” Good job, Soap, nice save. He took a shaky breath.</p>
<p>Thankfully, Price gave a husky chuckle that halved the tension in Soap’s chest. “We’re all a little bit crazy,” he smirked.</p>
<p>“Aye, I suppose you’re right.”</p>
<p>“Can I get you tossers anything?” Soap’s gaze flicked up to meet Ghost’s, who was stood behind the bar in front of them. Even after all this time, he wasn’t used to the other sneaking up on him.</p>
<p>“I need t’ get <em>you</em> a bloody bell or somethin’,” the Scot grumbled.</p>
<p>“I’m good, Simon, thanks,” Price said. “You well?”</p>
<p>“Splendid,” Ghost replied dryly. “Nice t’ see you two keepin’ in touch.”</p>
<p>“He’s good company,” Price complimented, gesturing with his head at Soap. “You’re terribly lucky, mate.” Soap met his gaze and smiled.</p>
<p>Ghost huffed. “Don’t let ‘im fool you, Price. He’s perfectly capable’a bein’ a pain in the arse.”</p>
<p>“I have the perfect teacher,” Soap retorted, squinting at the masked man.</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah, nice one. Anyway, just thought I’d give ya a heads up, break ends in about ten minutes.” Ghost gave Price a curt nod before moving back over to the restaurant space.</p>
<p>Ten minutes? His break had <em>flown</em> by. “At least I don’t feel like I’ve gotta <em>excuse</em> his behaviour around you, no doubt you know what he’s like.”</p>
<p>“I certainly do,” Price replied fondly. Then, he paused, a finger tapping at the bar. “I was wondering whether you’d like t’ do this again sometime, Soap. If we can find an evening where we’re both off duty.”</p>
<p>“I’d like that, Price. Yeah, I’d definitely like t’ –”</p>
<p>Nearby, a small family were seated with their young child having, what’d <em>originally</em> been, a pleasant evening out. However, the youngster was growing tired and was beginning to make a scene which lead to one of the parent’s glasses being knocked from the table.</p>
<p>The sound of it shattering snatched Soap from the present and launched him back onto the seat of his bike. Around him, metal crunched and glass obliterated, the awful screech of tires and the trance-like click of his blinker filling his ears. His leg was trapped, searing pain gnawing up his thigh and his wrist <em>ached</em>. His visor was cracked from where his head had met the tarmac, bike partially crushed and pinning him down. His mind was spinning, throat burning from his horrified yelling which he wasn’t even aware he was doing. In his peripheral, several feet away, a mass laid slumped against the road. He watched, vision blurred, as a stranger appeared and carefully turned the figure over – revealing it to be his friend, Mac. He drifted in and out of consciousness, the sound of sirens echoing –</p>
<p>“Hey! You’re alright, Soap, let’s get you some fresh air, come on.” He felt himself being dragged, then carried, a bitter chill meeting his face and prompting him to jerk.</p>
<p>“<em>Let me go</em>,” he drawled. “Need t’… let me <em>see</em> him! I can’t – <strong><em>no!</em></strong>”</p>
<p>“Sit him down,” someone else ordered firmly. “You’re safe, mate, come on, drink some’a this.” His hand was being held – no, someone was applying pressure to it, helping ground him. A straw was placed to his lips and he tiredly sipped, spluttering when icy cold water met the back of his throat.</p>
<p>Soap blinked, rasping as his breathing slowed. Sensation was gradually creeping back, his body no longer entirely numb and he started to take in the faces surrounding him. Passers-by filled static space in the background and he could make out Ghost’s skull mask first, gaze drifting to meet Price’s own worried one. He groaned, wincing at the looming streetlights. “What happened?”</p>
<p>“You blacked out, mate, lucky Price was there t’ catch you,” Ghost informed. “Was it the glass?”</p>
<p>He noticed his hands were shaking worse than before. “Yeah, <em>shite</em>.” Price had caught him?</p>
<p>“Gave us a bloody fright there,” Price sighed.</p>
<p>“Bollocks. Gotta leave you with Price, mate, alright? He’s gonna take you back to our place. I’ll sort things here,” Ghost explained, passing the hand he was holding over to the Sergeant. “Keep pressure here ‘til ‘e’s up, yeh?”</p>
<p>“I’ll handle it, Simon, cheers,” Price promised, relieving Ghost to clear up the mess inside and supervise. “How we feelin’, Soap?”</p>
<p>“Fucking kid,” he muttered. “‘m sorry, Price.”</p>
<p>“No, don’t be sorry, lad, not your fault.”</p>
<p>Soap’s head tilted back, pressing against the wall behind him.</p>
<p>“You let me know when you can walk, yeah? I’ll get you home.”</p>
<p>“I don’t… need t’ go home,” Soap fought.</p>
<p>“You need t’ rest, Soap.”</p>
<p>“I’m resting <em>here</em>.”</p>
<p>“Not gonna happen lad, I’m afraid.”</p>
<p>He hated to admit it, but Price was right. He was in no condition to continue his shift, which his boss would understand but truthfully, he didn’t want to be left alone – not after <em>that</em>. Sighing, he nodded. “Alright, ‘m ready.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Price checked. “Okay. I need you t’ put your arm over my shoulder.” He helped Soap manoeuvre the limb, placing his own back against the wall and using his knees to help lift the Scot to his feet with a strained struggle.</p>
<p>“Shite!” Soap grunted when his knee threatened to buckle.</p>
<p>“You alright?”</p>
<p>“Fine, I’m fine just – get me t’ the car, please.”</p>
<p>“One foot after the next, Soap, I parked ‘round the back.”</p>
<p>Price guided him around the building and into the carpark, where he was led towards a vehicle. It wasn’t the police car, which was the only detail Soap had the energy to pick out. “Here we are, right, you lean against this while I open the door.”</p>
<p>He was helped into the passenger seat, shame dripping down him when Price passed him the seatbelt. “I can do it,” he said sharply, recoiling at his own tone. “<em>Sorry</em>.”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about it,” Price reassured, gently closing the door to avoid anymore bangs or crashes and then made his way over to the driver’s seat. He clicked in his belt and checked Soap’s in the corner of his eye, not wanting to seem patronizing. “Focus on your breathing, yeah? Take it easy.”</p>
<p>The drive back was a silent one, painful – in fact. Price had all but saved his life, effectively, seeing that had he smashed his head on something during his apparent fall he could’ve busted his head open, and all he could feel was bitter shame. Buried frustration that grew with every reminder of his fragile mental health. He hadn’t wanted Price to ever see that side of him. Then again, he supposed, it’d happen sooner or later.</p>
<p>“Soap.”</p>
<p>“Huh?”</p>
<p>“We’re here.”</p>
<p>He glanced out the window at his apartment. <em>They sure were</em>.</p>
<p>“I’ll walk you t’ the door,” Price offered, exiting the vehicle. He made his way around to Soap’s side and opened it, offering an arm for support which Soap tiredly accepted, stepping out onto the pavement. Price locked the car and then walked him up the path to the front door, giving him some space to open it, which he did after fumbling with his keys for a few seconds. “You gonna be okay?”</p>
<p>Soap paused in his doorway, gaze fixed forward. He exhaled heavily at Price’s question. “I will be.”</p>
<p>“I meant, by yourself.”</p>
<p>He turned to face the other, aware of the anxiety bubbling in his throat. He shook his head.</p>
<p>Price’s brows furrowed. “I can keep you company, if you want? At least until Simon gets back.”</p>
<p>“I can’t ask that of you,” Soap uttered.</p>
<p>“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”</p>
<p>There were a few moments of deliberation and consideration on Soap’s part before he stepped inside and gestured for Price to follow. “Only if you’re sure.”</p>
<p>“Hey –” Price called to him, and he met his gaze. “‘<em>course</em> I’m sure.” He gave his trademark, warm smile.</p>
<p>“Thanks, Price,” Soap croaked, closing the door and locking it behind them. He flicked one of the more dimmed lights on, illuminating the living space.</p>
<p>Price looked around, taking in his surroundings. “You go and do what you need to, yeah? I’ll wait on here for you.” He patted at the sofa.</p>
<p>Nodding, Soap quietly made his way down the hall and into his room. In the meantime, Price seated himself on the sofa, leaving space for Soap, and used the remote to turn the tv on. He flicked through a few channels, keeping the volume low, until he found a relaxing documentary on dolphins and left it playing in the background.</p>
<p>Price eventually heard a door creak and noticed Soap approaching. He cleared his throat. “Can I get you anything, lad?”</p>
<p>The Scot eyed the seat next to the other and warily sat in it, occasionally glancing at the small distance between their forms. “I’m fine… thanks, Price.” He paused, running his tongue along the backs of his teeth. “You didn’t need t’ do any of this… I appreciate it.”</p>
<p>“Always a pleasure,” Price replied.</p>
<p>“You just keep catchin’ me when I fall, huh?”</p>
<p>“Fast reflexes,” Price smirked.</p>
<p>“Naturally,” Soap hummed, readjusting himself into a comfier position. He’d changed into more casual clothes, sweatpants and a t-shirt that didn’t stink of spilt drinks and crumbs of greasy food. “Have you got work t’morrow? Ah – shite, you said you have an early shift, right?”</p>
<p>“I do, but that’s not a problem.”</p>
<p>“T’night was supposed t’ be… nice.”</p>
<p>Price’s features shifted, trying to comfort. “I thought it was.”</p>
<p>“You did?”</p>
<p>“As a matter of fact, I haven’t enjoyed myself like that with someone else for some time.”</p>
<p>“But I – I <em>blacked out</em>, Price.”</p>
<p>“Didn’t take anything away from the evening itself.”</p>
<p>“You’re just trying to make me feel better,” Soap accused.</p>
<p>“Is it working?”</p>
<p>“Maybe.”</p>
<p>They both huffed with amusement.</p>
<p>“For what it’s worth, I enjoyed spending time with you too, Price.”</p>
<p>“I’m glad.”</p>
<p>Conversation faded for a short amount of time before Soap fully took in what they were watching. “They have the ability to recognize themselves in mirrors, you know.”</p>
<p>“What do?”</p>
<p>“Dolphins.”</p>
<p>“Where did you see that?” Price asked, lips curved.</p>
<p>“Don’t remember. Somethin’ similar t’ this. Just remember it…”</p>
<p>Price gave a chuckle. “You’re full of surprises, Soap. You watch documentaries?”</p>
<p>“Sometimes. All I really care t’ watch, other than sports – footie, mostly. History, military, cultural, animals ‘n’ people… I’m a sucker f’ knowledge.”</p>
<p>“We share something in common, then,” Price said.</p>
<p>“Oh, I think we share more than <em>only</em> that in common.”</p>
<p>“I think you’re right.”</p>
<p>Again, quiet swept across the room, save for the tv. Though it was mutual, a comfort found in each other’s presence. They didn’t need constant words to reassure each other.</p>
<p>A short while later, Soap found his eyes straying to Price’s hand which was incredibly close to him, palm down on the seat. At one point, he was certain the other caught him staring. He panicked and smiled at him, then averted his gaze back to the tv. However, as though that wasn’t enough, Price took Soap’s hand in his own and squeezed gently. His heart leapt, mind racing as he risked a glance at the Sergeant who merely returned his previous smile, which Soap gave a second time to tell Price he was okay with the action.</p>
<p>Their eyes moved back towards the tv screen, but the narrator’s words droned to a light murmuring and all Soap could think about was the warmth Price’s hand radiated, his entire form in fact. About how, regardless of how terrible he felt, he was safe and comfortable with Price at his side.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>oof. feelings.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much for all the nice comments so far! This fic will definitely get finished, so don't sweat that.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Soap’s eyes opened suddenly and he blinked himself from his slumber. It wasn’t often he woke this quickly, usually preferring to set his alarm ten minutes before he had to get out of bed. Taking a deep breath, he savoured his comfort, something warm cocooned around him and –</p>
<p>His gaze flicked to his shoulder, noticing something resting on it. A blanket, the one he usually left draped over the back of the sofa, covered his sideways form. How’d he get like this? He must’ve fallen asleep…</p>
<p>Next, he saw that Price was gone. Did <em>he</em> deploy the blanket? He wondered. “<em>Shite</em>…”</p>
<p>“Morning, Sunshine.”</p>
<p>“Simon?” Soap choked, peering over behind him to see the other cooking something up in the kitchen. “What –”</p>
<p>“You fell asleep. Price <em>was</em> here, left shortly after I got back.”</p>
<p>“Did you – put this on me?” He gestured to the blanket.</p>
<p>“No, mate. Must’ve been Price.”</p>
<p>“I can’t believe I fell asleep…” He grumbled to himself and sat upright, pushing the cover off to the side. <em>Must’ve been Price</em>. His heart skipped.</p>
<p>“Clearly needed your rest. I wouldn’t worry about it, mate, ‘e said he’d get in touch about seeing you again.”</p>
<p>Soap exhaled. “I can’t believe he wants to, after last night.”</p>
<p>“Don’t dwell on it. Just be glad he does.”</p>
<p>“Did you manage to handle everything alright?”</p>
<p>Simon nodded, pressing his back against the counter as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Yeh, not a problem. How you feelin’ t’day?”</p>
<p>“I’ve felt better.”</p>
<p>“I’ve signed you off for another night’s rest.”</p>
<p>“What?” Soap asked, surprised. “Simon I’ll be fine by t’night, you didn’t need t’ –”</p>
<p>“I did, mate. I know how it is, don’t bullshit me. One more night and then you can come back.”</p>
<p>“You know I hate bein’ here without anything t’ do…”</p>
<p>“Text Price. Sure he’ll keep you company.”</p>
<p>Soap rubbed at his face, frustrated.</p>
<p>“Just lookin’ after you, Soap,” Simon reasoned.</p>
<p>“I know, I know… And it’s a bloody pain in my arse, but I appreciate it.”</p>
<p>“Heh,” Riley gave a chuckle. “You up f’ some breakfast?”</p>
<p>“Aye, <em>definitely</em>.” He paused, noting the tv had turned itself off. “Did Price seem… annoyed? That I’d fallen asleep, I mean.”</p>
<p>“Quite frankly I reckon ‘e was over the moon that you didn’t smash your bloody <em>head</em> open on anything.”</p>
<p>“I suppose.” The Scot reached into his pocket and freed his phone. The screen lit up to reveal one text message from the Sergeant.</p>
<p>NEW MESSAGE.</p>
<p>
  <strong>PRICE.</strong>
</p>
<p>[ Had to leave before you woke, apologies. Hope… ]</p>
<p>He unlocked the device and smiled contently to himself.</p>
<p>[ Had to leave before you woke, apologies. Hope you rest up. <br/>Had a wonderful evening, regardless. Let’s plan another night soon, <br/>when we’re both off. Sound good? ] 00:54</p>
<p>[ Sounds great. Thanks for keeping me company. ] 10:49</p>
<p><br/>“Here.” Simon placed a plate in front of the other, a slice of buttered toast with a fried egg on top and beans on the side.</p>
<p>“Looks bloody perfect,” Soap complimented, slipping his phone out of sight. He took the knife and fork Simon offered him before digging in. It was quite unbelievable that Price wanted to see him again, at least to Soap. However, Simon was right. He shouldn’t dwell on it and should be happy that the Sergeant <em>did</em> want to. Maybe at least one of their meetings could end smoothly, without someone getting injured or called away.</p>
<hr/>
<p>That evening, Soap stayed home. He waited by the door until Simon was out of sight, on his way to work, then stepped back inside and locked it. Never a fan of being by himself, primarily because there were next to no distractions for his anxiety. At least with Simon around, it meant he could go and talk to him, or even merely be in his presence. Alone, he only had himself to face.</p>
<p>Sighing, the Scot made his way into his room and closed the door behind him. He laid down on his bed and watched his fish tank, observing the fish within it doing their elegant rounds, dodging plants and tailing each other. “How d’ <em>you</em> do it?” He asked them flatly. “Swim around all day every day doin’ the same shite.” He paused, chuckling. “S’pose <em>I’m</em> the one sat watchin’ <em>you</em> do that, so I’m no better.”</p>
<p>He gripped his phone in the palm of his hand, a thumb thoughtfully rubbing at the side of its case. Unlocking it, Soap stared at the message log he had on the screen between himself and Price. <em>Text him</em>, he considered. Worst he could do is not reply, after all.</p>
<p>[ Hey Price, you busy? ] 17:12</p>
<p><br/>[ Finished my shift a couple of hours ago, so no. ] 17:13</p>
<p>[ How are you? ] 17:13</p>
<p><br/>[ Getting there, thanks. ] 17:13</p>
<p>[ Got my shift off for rest this evening. ] 17:13</p>
<p><br/>[ I see. Anything planned? ] 17:14</p>
<p><br/>[ No, sadly. ] 17:14</p>
<p>[ How’d your shift go? ] 17:14</p>
<p><br/>[ Fine. Some days very little happens. Can’t complain. ] 17:15</p>
<p><br/>[ You want people to behave but I imagine that<br/>gets boring after a while, no? ] 17:15</p>
<p><br/>[ Not all action in the SF either, but yes, certainly different. ] 17:16</p>
<p><br/>[ I’m sure. You never mentioned why you left. ] 17:16</p>
<p><br/>[ Ended up medically discharged. Gunshot to the hand. ] 17:18</p>
<p><br/>[ Shite! And you call me the hard bastard. ] 17:18</p>
<p><br/>[ Physiotherapist concluded I couldn’t use weapons <br/>the way I previously had and made the decision <br/>to pull me from my team. ] 17:19</p>
<p><br/>[ But you were a Captain? ] 17:19</p>
<p><br/>[ I was. They managed to find a replacement. ] 17:20</p>
<p><br/>[ I wouldn’t say that. I don’t think you’re replaceable, Price. ] 17:20</p>
<p><br/>[ Charming. ] 17:21</p>
<p>[ I took up Law Enforcement while continuing physio.<br/>It’s looking much better now, so perhaps one day<br/>I’ll make it back on the team. Won’t hold my breath, however. ] 17:22</p>
<p><br/>[ I was going to say, I never noticed. ] 17:22</p>
<p><br/>[ It’s the internal scarring that’s hardest to see. ] 17:22</p>
<p><br/>[ I know exactly what you mean. ] 17:23</p>
<p>[ Sounds like we’re a right pair. ] 17:23</p>
<p><br/>[ Truly. Makes for a pleasant change. ] 17:23</p>
<p>[ Did you happen to check when you’re next off work? ] 17:24</p>
<p><br/>[ Might work better if you let me know first.<br/>I assume it’s easier for me to change my times. ] 17:24</p>
<p><br/>[ Working a morning shift this Friday, <br/>will have the evening off if that works? ] 17:25</p>
<p><br/>[ That works fine! I can request a swap<br/>on the rota for a daytime shift. ] 17:25</p>
<p><br/>[ Perfect. ] 17:25</p>
<p><br/>[ Did you have anything in mind? ] 17:26</p>
<p><br/>[ You mentioned before you enjoyed walking. ] 17:26</p>
<p><br/>[ I did. ] 17:26</p>
<p><br/>[ Well, I know a beautiful spot in the countryside. ] 17:27</p>
<p><br/>[ We could take some food with us? ] 17:27</p>
<p><br/>[ Or, you could come back to mine after and I’ll cook. ] 17:28</p>
<p><br/>[ Wow, Price that’s very generous of you.<br/>Sounds like a plan. What time? ] 17:28</p>
<p><br/>[ I can pick you up at 5? Gets dark quickly these days. ] 17:29</p>
<p><br/>[ That it does. 5 is perfect. ] 17:29</p>
<p><br/>[ Wonderful. I look forward to seeing you. ] 17:30</p>
<p><br/>[ I’m excited for this cooking you mentioned. ] 17:30</p>
<p><br/>[ Have I set high expectations? ] 17:31</p>
<p><br/>[ Possibly. I can appreciate a good cook. ] 17:31</p>
<p><br/>[ I like to think I’ve learned a thing or two in my time. ] 17:32</p>
<p><br/>[ About cooking? ] 17:32</p>
<p><br/>[ Various things. ] 17:34</p>
<p><br/>[ Oh? Consider me intrigued. ] 17:34</p>
<p><br/>[ You’ll have to wait and see. ] 17:35</p>
<p><br/>[ I didn’t take you for a tease, Price. ] 17:35</p>
<p><br/>[ A man of many hats. ] 17:36</p>
<p><br/>[ Literally and metaphorically. ] 17:36</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was how the conversation continued, proceeding even after Simon returned from his shift, responses flowing comfortably. Soap clutched at his phone, enthralled every time a new message popped up. Price was mysterious, yet upfront and the Scot liked that about him. He had questions, yes, but his anxieties were always laid to rest. He couldn’t wait for Friday – he could manage a few days anticipation. The idea of going ‘round to Price’s place made him giddy, sharing each other’s company… He merely hoped things would, for once, go smoothly.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'd give anything to eat breakfast with simon riley ngl.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>things get saucy towards the end, you've been warned c:</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Days passed and Soap had managed to make his way through each one, despite them seeming agonizingly slow. He hadn’t seen Price since <em>that</em> evening, save for their countless conversations over text and occasional phone calls to pass the time. He loved hearing Price’s voice over the phone, because it meant he could focus on solely that, rather than the world moving around him too. Hence why he was so excited about their planned evening together – <em>only</em> him and Price.</p>
<p>“You ready t’ go?” Price asked, gesturing to his car which he’d parked against the curb. He looked smart, dressed in an army green overcoat which stopped a few inches above his knees, accompanied by a black t-shirt, jeans and subtle boots to match. It fitted him well and allowed Soap to notice his toned figure.</p>
<p>Soap, on the other hand, was dressed in dark grey jeans and a smart, thick, navy sweatshirt along with military-style ankle boots to go with his jeans. Smart but practical, considering Price intended to walk him up a hill in the countryside. That, and early November weather could be bitter. “I am.”</p>
<p>“You look lovely,” Price complimented warmly and Soap thought he was going to melt before the man.</p>
<p>“Thanks, you don’t look too bad yourself.” He gave a tame smile. “Where abouts’a we headed?”</p>
<p>“No specific name, it’s about ten minutes from here – including a short walk.”</p>
<p>“Right, sounds great,” Soap hummed as he turned to lock his door. They made their way to the vehicle and Price unexpectedly opened the passenger door for him. “Oh – thank you…” He seated himself, keeping his hands firmly in his lap as the other shut the door and made his way to the driver’s seat. The nerves were starting to creep in. “How’s your day been?”</p>
<p>Price clicked his seatbelt in and glanced at the Scot. “Yeah, alright, thanks. Gaz ‘as been havin’ some trouble with his personal life so I’ve been mostly discussing that with him today.”</p>
<p>“Trouble, eh? Anything I could help with?”</p>
<p>“Well, it’s similar t’ myself, actually.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” Soap found himself frowning with concern. Was there something Price wasn’t telling him?</p>
<p>“I shouldn’t really be discussing it, but I trust you.”</p>
<p>Price trusted him? The thought sent him over the moon, a weak smile forming on his lips as he fought the desire to beam a grin. “Your secrets are safe with me.”</p>
<p>“Often question whether I want to <em>continue</em> with this job. Gaz mentioned he was interested in eventually pursuing military work. Feels he could be making more of an impact, and I’m inclined to agree.”</p>
<p>“Well, this could be only temporary, right?”</p>
<p>“If my hand can’t return to its previous state then possibly not,” Price exhaled, starting the car up.</p>
<p>“There’s always room for optimism,” Soap shrugged. “I wouldn’t stress yourself over it, Price. These things take their time.”</p>
<p>The Sergeant nodded, giving a smile of appreciation as he pulled out of the parking space. This time, during the drive, they talked – which reassured Soap, since the last time they were in a car his thoughts and feelings were very mixed. In fact, it wasn’t long before Price was pulling into a small, dusty carpark. “We’re here,” he stated, turning off the engine. Soap noticed even the other seemed tense. “Just a little walk to the spot.”</p>
<p>“Aye, let’s go, I’m excited already.”</p>
<p>Price chuckled. “No pressure,” he joked.</p>
<p>They exited the vehicle and the Brit guided him towards a vague path which led them through a field, gorgeous primroses delicately scattered across it, their soft pink shade mimicking the calm beginnings of sundown. The trail made its way up a gentle hill which overlooked the scenery, a colossal oak tree with rich amber leaves observing their journey. “Price, this is stunning.”</p>
<p>“We’re not there yet.”</p>
<p>“It gets better than this?” He inquired, amazed.</p>
<p>“It does.”</p>
<p>Upon reaching the top of the hill, Soap realized Price was right. There was a small bench beneath the tree, revealing the entire landscape – facing away from the roads meaning no cars could be seen. “Wow,” Soap said breathlessly, taking in the sights.</p>
<p>“Have a seat,” Price made his own way to the bench and patted at the space beside him.</p>
<p>His jaw tightened at the other’s request but he refused to hesitate and approached him. “Been a long time since I’ve seen anything like this.” He perched on the edge of the bench at first, then gradually worked his way back onto it. Their elbows touched and he smiled dizzily. “I don’t often get the opportunity t’ come out here to see things like this.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps that’s something we can have to look forward to, then. I know more locations similar to this.”</p>
<p>Soap paused. “Price…”</p>
<p>“Mm?”</p>
<p>“What made you want to meet with me again?”</p>
<p>Price’s brows shifted, confused. “What d’ you mean?”</p>
<p>“After last time, what kept you from… you know, never talking t’ me again?”</p>
<p>“<em>You</em> think what happened last time should’ve impacted whether I want to spend time with you.”</p>
<p>“I mean – maybe? That’s usually the case with people. They’re not interested in bein’ weighed down by… those things.”</p>
<p>Price placed a hand on Soap’s shoulder, sending a chill down his spine. “It’s <em>your</em> weight to bear, more than it is <em>anyone</em> else’s. I know a lot of men and women alike who live their lives with similar weights. Doesn’t make ‘em any less pleasant t’ be around.”</p>
<p>“You think I’m pleasant t’ be around?”</p>
<p>“I do,” Price admitted openly. “I thoroughly enjoy spending time with you, Soap.” He removed the hand from his shoulder and tugged up his sleeve slightly to reveal faded scarring. “We all have our weights to bear. They certainly shouldn’t alter people’s perceptions of you.”</p>
<p>He couldn’t suppress his handsome grin any longer. “A man after my own heart. How’s nobody scooped you up yet, Price?”</p>
<p>The Sergeant smirked, shaking his head. “I’ve been accused of not making enough time for the people in my life.”</p>
<p>“By who?”</p>
<p>“Former partners, long and short-term. They weren’t wrong, but my life’s always been fast-paced. Keeping occupied suits me.”</p>
<p>“The idea of having a family make you nervous?”</p>
<p>“I suppose it does.” Price rubbed at his beard, wondering whether the information would scare Soap off.</p>
<p>“Thought I was the only one.”</p>
<p>Price regarded him with a surprised expression. “You feel the same way?”</p>
<p>“Aye. Don’t get me wrong – I’d love t’ be part of somethin’ like that. Christ, kids are bloody precious. But I never had the best relationship with my dad. Often worry I’d struggle with, y’ know, <em>bein’</em> a dad. That, and the idea of <em>settling down</em> on its own… I enjoy the thrill of life. Like you said, fast-paced. I wonder whether having a family would mean the world <em>slowing</em>.”</p>
<p>“<em>Huh</em>. I suppose we can add that to the list of things we have in common.”</p>
<p>“That military mindset,” Soap added.</p>
<p>“That’s <em>very</em> true.”</p>
<p>“What did you do before the military?”</p>
<p>Price arched a brow. “I was in <em>school</em>. Joined at 16.”</p>
<p>“Oh wow, really?”</p>
<p>“My father was a military man himself so I aspired to follow in his footsteps.”</p>
<p>“A’ you anything like your Pa, d’ you think?” Soap questioned, stuck between admiring the landscape and Price’s face under the sky’s lighting.</p>
<p>“I like t’ think so. Definitely have ‘is complete lack of tolerance f’ bullshit.”</p>
<p>Soap laughed heartily. “A no-nonsense guy, eh?”</p>
<p>“When a situation calls for it,” Price explained, admiring Soap’s laugh.</p>
<p>“Ah, I see, <em>mostly</em> work and <em>some</em> play, then.”</p>
<p>“Exactly. Unless I can be <em>swayed</em>.” Price’s eyes met Soap’s and the Scot had to drag his gaze over to the primrose near his foot – the other’s intensity making his palms sweat.</p>
<p>He liked Price’s directness, wondered how it’d feel to be under that gaze, bare and vulnerable. “That apply when you’re givin’ out tickets ‘n’ what not?”</p>
<p>Price huffed, amused. “No.”</p>
<p>“Noted.”</p>
<p>For a few minutes, quiet fell between them as they watched the sun gradually begin to fade on the horizon into a captivating blur of blues and oranges. “Not often I get to share this with someone else.”</p>
<p>“Well I’m grateful you chose <em>me</em>, of all people.”</p>
<p>“No one else I’d rather see it with,” Price confessed, thoughtfully pursing his lips. It was romantic, there were no two ways about it, and the Sergeant hadn’t crossed paths with someone as insightful and respectful as Soap. The younger man fascinated him, a bold and resilient lad who equally appealed to the eyes. He felt the Scot’s gaze land on him and cleared his throat.</p>
<p>“Truth be told, Price, I tend to reject invitations like these.”</p>
<p>“Oh?”</p>
<p>“<em>Most</em> invitations, actually. Tend to feel out of place, with a lot of people. They either have no clue what I’ve gone through or assume I need t’ be… taken out of my comfort zone. Y’ know, get back in the saddle or whatever.”</p>
<p>“What made you come along tonight, then?”</p>
<p>Soap chewed on his lip, considering his words. “You don’t make me feel like that.”</p>
<p>“I’m glad.” He shifted in his seat. “I meant to ask, did you ever try that cigar I gave you?”</p>
<p>“I did!” Soap confirmed.</p>
<p>“Thoughts?”</p>
<p>“I can understand why you like ‘em.”</p>
<p>Price’s lips curved into a smile. “Would you like another?”</p>
<p>“Another? I – I couldn’t, Price, they’re <em>yours</em>.”</p>
<p>The Sergeant reached into his pocket and freed what appeared to be a plastic bag with cigars inside it. He unzipped the bag and offered one to him. “I’m not going to <em>force</em> you, but you’re <em>welcome</em> to have one.” While he waited for Soap to make up his mind, he took his own and placed it between his lips. His free hand patted for his lighter and lit it, drawing a puff of smoke into his mouth.</p>
<p>Soap thought how he’d prefer to sit and observe Price, whirls of smoke dancing from parted lips and the intoxicating scent engulfing them – the soft sizzle of the flames relaxing amid their beautiful surroundings. Sighing, he took the cigar and repeated what he’d done the previous time he smoked one while using Price as his teacher. The other lit it for him and he took a drag, smirking when Price’s gaze focused on him. It was saying something, that he could pull the Brit’s attention away from his beloved cigar. He made a show of exhaling the smoke, desperately trying to keep from coughing as it burned at the back of his throat. “Thanks, Price.”</p>
<p>“All we need now is some whisky.”</p>
<p>The Scot chuckled. “Too right.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>“This place is… I’m <em>speechless</em>,” Soap stated, taking in the living room. They’d left the hill and returned back to Price’s house, once it got dark and cold enough.</p>
<p>“Don’t make it sound grander than it is,” Price replied. It wasn’t a big place, big enough for him and while indeed, it was its own property which meant a small garden out the back and a front driveway, there was something about not having it to share with someone that made it feel significantly empty to him.</p>
<p>“I love it, wow, <em>very</em> tasteful, Price.” The sofa was leather, an attractive shade of brown decorated with brown pillows that had simple yet interesting cream patterns on them. There was a fireplace positioned in the corner, a tv opposite the seating area and there was no carpet but floorboards, partially covered by a taupe coloured rug. The walls were a lighter shade of vanilla, illuminating the room, and this colour scheme seemed to travel throughout the house – nothing seeming out of place or unattractive.</p>
<p>“Make yourself at home. I planned to serve lasagna tonight, if you’re okay with that?”</p>
<p>“Haven’t had that in a while. Absolutely fine by me – brownie points if you made it yourself.”</p>
<p>“I did, actually.” Price started to make his way towards the kitchen which was connected to the living room.</p>
<p>Soap followed close by, intrigued. “Is this where I ask if you <em>really</em> did and you tell me no?”</p>
<p>“No, I definitely made it myself. Last night, though – never a fan of things going pear shaped.”</p>
<p>“I tend to cook a lot too. Nothing too exotic, don’t have the energy these chefs do – t’ spend <em>hours</em> preparing somethin’ that you’re gonna eat in a few <em>minutes</em>.” He hummed, rubbing at his chin. “Ah – that’s where we’d differ then, as I’d one hundred percent leave it ‘til the last minute and then panic when things started t’ go horribly wrong.”</p>
<p>“Do they often go horribly wrong?” Price asked, opening the fridge to place the premade lasagna on the counter.</p>
<p>“No… I suppose not, but I like to make things difficult for myself, apparently.”</p>
<p>“Mm, I remember you mentioning you like a <em>challenge</em>.”</p>
<p>“Always looking t’ push myself, aye. You’ve found my weakness.”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t call it that,” Price disagreed, turning the oven on. “Always better to be driven than not.”</p>
<p>“You should be one of those motivational speakers,” Soap joked.</p>
<p>“You dip into the wisdom bank too often you run dry.”</p>
<p>“I have so much to learn from you.”</p>
<p>“Don’t sell yourself short, Soap. Your mind fascinates me.”</p>
<p>“It does?” Soap arched a brow curiously. “Why?”</p>
<p>“You’re adaptable, strong, practical. Even with an injured arm you made your way into work to keep busy. Many people lack that resilience.”</p>
<p>“You’re just <em>full</em> of compliments tonight, huh?” Soap squinted at the other, leaning against one of the counters.</p>
<p>“Only for you,” Price said softly, before turning to face the collection of alcohol he had beside the fridge. “Can I get you a drink?”</p>
<p>The Scot blinked, taken aback by Price’s words. He didn’t have time to respond, however; to fully comprehend their weight, as he was shown numerous bottles of different heights, sizes and alcohol percentages. “I – uh – any <em>whisky</em>?”</p>
<p>“Which one?”</p>
<p>Soap crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head. “Which one’s <em>your</em> <em>favourite</em>?”</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Well, I have nothing more t’ say other than that you’re a master chef, Price,” Soap announced, setting his cutlery down on his empty plate. He leaned back against his chair and rested his elbows on the table, chin on palms.</p>
<p>“Don’t know about that, but I’m <em>pleased </em>you enjoyed it,” Price responded with an amused smile.</p>
<p>The Scot reached for his whisky glass and drank the final mouthful of liquid. “I’ll have t’ get myself some’a that.”</p>
<p>“Didn’t take you for a whisky bloke.”</p>
<p>“Then what did you take me for?”</p>
<p>Price hummed thoughtfully. “Not sure. But <em>I </em>can appreciate someone with a sophisticated taste.”</p>
<p>“Is that so? Perhaps I should go then –”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“You said someone with a <em>sophisticated</em> taste. I’m <em>far</em> from that so –”</p>
<p>“You can be sophisticated,” Price argued with a smirk.</p>
<p>“You think?”</p>
<p>“You’re also… great company. So I’d rather you stayed…”</p>
<p>Soap considered the other, butterflies in his stomach. He could feel his cheeks heating under Price’s daring gaze. “I’ll have t’ go home <em>eventually</em>.”</p>
<p>“Then we ought to make the most of the time we have left. What would you like to do?”</p>
<p>“We could watch a movie,” Soap suggested. Oh, there were plenty of things he wanted to do, however, he also treasured spending time with Price. “Except I won’t fall asleep, this time.” Hopefully, he could sneak his hand into the other’s hold like Price had done <em>previously</em>.</p>
<p>Price chuckled softly. “Sure, Soap. We can do that.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Thanks f’ the lift home,” Soap smiled, unlocking his door.</p>
<p>“As if I’d make you walk back in the dark on your own.”</p>
<p>“You think I couldn’t handle myself?”</p>
<p>“I’d be more worried about anyone who tried to mess with <em>you</em>, honestly.”</p>
<p>“Oh I’m a force t’ be reckoned with,” Soap jested. He thought about his run in with Makarov, of the cuts and bruises obtained from it.</p>
<p>“I don’t doubt it.”</p>
<p>“I had a wonderful evening, Price. Thanks again f’… well, all of it.”</p>
<p>“I look forward to when we can do it again,” Price drawled, leaning against the doorframe.</p>
<p>“Drive back carefully, won’t you?”</p>
<p>“Of course.”</p>
<p>There was a moment between them, a tense exhale and the meeting of uncertain eyes – neither knowing whether to walk away or lean in. Nerves surged and Soap found himself stepping inside, offering a wave. “Take care, Price, let me know when you get home.” He shut the door behind him and pressed his back against it, drawing in a deep breath. <em>You should’ve kissed him</em>, he told himself. Then again, Price didn’t make a move either so perhaps it was for the best.</p>
<p>“You’re back late,” Simon observed from the hall, prompting Soap to <em>almost</em> jump.</p>
<p>“Bloody hell, can’t stand when you do that!” Soap grunted, shaking his head.</p>
<p>“Have a good time?”</p>
<p>“Aye, thank you,” Soap confirmed, working to keep from looking as smitten as he felt.</p>
<p>“You lads do anything other than talk?”</p>
<p>“What? <em>No</em> – well, he took me t’ this… beautiful spot. Then cooked me a meal back at his place…”</p>
<p>“Sounds like he pulled out all the stops,” Simon said flatly, gaze studying the Scot.</p>
<p>“<em>Nothing happened</em>,” Soap stressed.</p>
<p>“Oh I believe you, mate. Question is, why not?”</p>
<p>“Because I – I don’t know. S’pose I’m nervous about… taking it further.”</p>
<p>“You think he’s not interested,” Simon noted.</p>
<p>“It’s not that! I’m just <em>really</em> enjoying his company I – I’d hate t’… move too fast, y’ know?”</p>
<p>“Fair play, mate. One piece of advice though? If this is somethin’ you’re wanting t’ go further then don’t sit by ‘n’ wait for it to on its own. Price is obviously trying – worst thing you can do is leave it all up t’ him.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Soap relaxed on his bed, hands clasped and resting on his abdomen. It was weeks after Price had taken him to the countryside, and they’d organised numerous meetups – Soap longed to call them dates – from walks around gorgeous gardens to visiting Hereford museums to even attending a tour of a cider museum where they ended up tasting samples. The right time to make any kind of move hadn’t come, or if it had, Soap had panicked and missed it. He didn’t want anything to go wrong and certainly didn’t want to risk pushing Price away, although he also didn’t want Price to feel like he was the only one trying. Which was why for their next <em>meeting</em>, Soap had taken initiative and suggested they go to the Hereford Racecourse, which Price had stated was one of his favourite places to go. Naturally, the Brit was keen which excited Soap, hell, maybe they could bet on a horse together too.</p>
<p>He thought about how much <em>more</em> enjoyable their time together could be, were they <em>going out</em> with each other. Were one of them to let the other know their feelings. Cheeky kisses and arms wrapped around one another’s waists, chins placed on shoulders and facial hair rough against each other’s faces. The teasing touches, endless compliments and the physical contact he longed for. Any time Price’s hand grazed his wrist or they bumped elbows, he wanted nothing more than for it to turn into something else. To reach up and hook his forearms around Price’s neck and pull him deep into a kiss, the heat from it encouraging them to grind their forms and work each other into a mess. The idea of Price’s tender hold enveloping him, keeping him safe as hips thrust and they moaned into their mouths.</p>
<p>“Bloody shite,” Soap exhaled shakily, returning from his thoughts. <em>If only</em>. It certainly topped being left home alone while Simon went out drinking and then brought people back to have a one night stand with in the room opposite, not to mention having to deal with his flipped mood once he’d told them to bugger off after a quick shag. Soap hoped Simon would find someone, someday, or at least find inner peace that meant he wasn’t living a regularly risky lifestyle in order to feel a brisk few hours of <em>good</em>. He wondered if the other found it difficult, seeing Soap enjoying himself with someone else.</p>
<p>His mind drifted back to Price, back to staying at Price’s place and using his shower; <em>showering with him</em>. He grunted at the idea of sharing a bed with the other, tension from their work expelled through him being pressed against the bedroom wall and roughly kissed… Soap’s hand found its way to the waistband of his shorts and slipped beneath it, firmly grasping himself. “Ah –” He uttered, biting his lower lip as he worked his length.</p>
<p>He imagined a scenario, one that involved him exiting Price’s shower wrapped in only a towel to find the other waiting on his bed.</p>
<p>“Aren’t you stunning,” Price observed, voice low – his gaze studying every inch of the Scot’s form, lingering at the towel. “Can I convince you to take that off?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Soap replied, allowing his own eyes to roam. “Can you?”</p>
<p>Price rose from his seat and slowly approached, cupping Soap’s jaw as he pulled him in for a deep kiss. His lips gradually found their way to the other’s chin, working their way down the stubbled flesh of his neck and to the centre of his collarbone where he pressed a firm peck. “Love your smell…”</p>
<p>The Scot couldn’t resist and placed his arms around Price’s neck, capturing his lips with his own as he risked abandoning any defence for his towel which the Brit took advantage of, his hands dancing down the other’s chest, taking in every delightful twitch of muscle before halting at the coverage.</p>
<p>The Sergeant tested the waters, fingers playing with the folded material keeping the towel in place and when Soap made no move to fight him off, he made it drop to their feet. “Sit on the bed,” Price ordered, guttural voice causing Soap to shudder against him. Confident, in his mind, Soap made his way over to the bed and seated himself on it, savouring the desire fervent in Price’s eyes as he took in the Scot’s length from where he stood. “<em>Beautiful</em>.”</p>
<p>“C’mere…” Soap requested, prompting Price to close the distance. The older man lowered himself to his knees and brushed his palms gently up Soap’s thighs, drawing a groan from him. Then, to his surprise, his hardened member was taken into Price’s assertive grasp, a thumb running from his slit and to the halfway point of his heat and then up again. “Shite, Price, please…” Price maintained eye contact as his head dipped, lips engulfing the head of his length – facial hair only adding to the sensation and Soap’s head fell back. He gave a long moan, rocking into his own hand as his hips jerked irregularly, pushing him to his orgasm. “Fuck, yes!” He choked, eventually slowing to a stop; his breathing raspy and fast.</p>
<p>Soap glanced down at himself and sighed at the mess he’d made across his abdomen. “<em>No denying that happened</em>…” He said breathlessly. After a while, he reached for a tissue and cleaned himself up before getting to his feet. Peeking out into the hall to ensure Simon wasn’t back, he slinked into the bathroom, flushed the tissue and then climbed into the shower once he’d piled his clothes on the floor.</p>
<p>As awkward as he felt about touching himself to the thought of Price, he had to admit – the man was charming in a variety of different ways and he’d give anything to have things between them develop further. Whether he could build up the confidence to state that was another matter, however.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>shorter chapter this time. hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’ve actually… never been here before,” Soap confessed with a sheepish smile.</p>
<p>“You’re joking,” Price accused, arching a brow.</p>
<p>“I’m… really not.”</p>
<p>“Not a fan of the races?”</p>
<p>“It’s not that – in fact, I sometimes watch ‘em on tv. But Simon isn’t a very <em>social</em> bloke and I – well, I could never come somewhere like this alone.”</p>
<p>“Good thing you met me, then,” Price stated, placing a hand on Soap’s back to guide him through the crowd of smartly-dressed folk. “Always better t’ see ‘em in person.”</p>
<p>Soap tried to resist leaning into Price’s touch and instead focused on moving forwards to locate their seats. “Over here,” he said, making his way up a few steps before seating himself. Price sat beside him and their elbows touched. “Isn’t this a view and a half.”</p>
<p>“It certainly is,” Price agreed, however when Soap turned to face him he found the Brit’s gaze to be directly on him already.</p>
<p>“We talking about the same thing?” Soap asked, shocked by his own question – where the hell had that come from?</p>
<p>“I’d never deny you a compliment.”</p>
<p>Oh Christ, he was taking it further. Soap felt his heart flip, adrenaline rising. “I find it hard t’ believe you don’t have these lines written down somewhere.”</p>
<p>“All from the heart,” Price hummed.</p>
<p>“Can’t imagine you get on the wrong side of anyone, Price. At least not without makin’ ‘em swoon first.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’ve been on plenty of <em>wrong sides</em>.”</p>
<p>“Not possible.”</p>
<p>Price chuckled. “I could say the same about you. Don’t reckon you’ve a bad bone in your body.”</p>
<p>“I can be <em>bad</em> when I want t’ be,” Soap argued with a smirk. He couldn’t believe how easily things flowed with the other. Often, among others, he struggled to formulate a sentence let alone any ounce of interest.</p>
<p>“What kind of <em>bad</em>?” The Sergeant gave him a look as if to say: <em>don’t forget I’m an officer</em>.</p>
<p>“I’m not one t’ give out spoilers.”</p>
<p>“That’s <em>cruel</em>. At least give me a hint.”</p>
<p>“Nope!”</p>
<p>Price exhaled, redirecting his gaze to the horses in the distance. “I wonder if Simon would know.”</p>
<p>“He doesn’t.” Simon did know, to a degree, but he wasn’t going to tell Price that.</p>
<p>“Then I’ll have to find out f’ myself.”</p>
<p>“And <em>how</em> d’ you intend t’ do that?” Soap questioned, lips quirking.</p>
<p>“No spoilers,” Price replied smugly.</p>
<p>“Wow, okay, I see how it is.”</p>
<p>“How what is?”</p>
<p>“This little game you wanna play,” Soap squinted.</p>
<p>“I’m not playin’ any games.”</p>
<p>The Scot turned his head to meet Price’s gaze and there it was again, that static air. Magnetism between them, all that needed to happen was for one to lean in.</p>
<p>The race began suddenly, horses galloping around the track and the audience cheering jarring them from the moment – voices commentating from the speakers who’s winning and who’s falling behind. They looked back out to the racecourse and Soap tried to keep his sigh of disappointment subtle. After all, they were still there together, regardless of how things turned out.</p>
<p><em>What he would do to have kissed him there and then</em>, however…</p>
<p>“You were right,” Soap chirped.</p>
<p>“Hm?”</p>
<p>“This <em>is</em> much more exciting in person.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>“I had a wonderful day, Price, thanks f’ coming along with me.” Soap stood at the curb outside his house with his arms by his sides.</p>
<p>“Thank you for inviting me, I really enjoyed myself,” Price agreed. “What do I owe you for –”</p>
<p>“No, no,” Soap refused. “You don’t owe me anything, your company was enough.”</p>
<p>The Sergeant’s lips curved. “I couldn’t possibly –”</p>
<p>“Argue with me? You’re right about that.”</p>
<p>“At least allow me to pay next time.”</p>
<p>“Oh? There’s going t’ be a next time, is there?” Soap asked bravely.</p>
<p>“I hope so,” Price admitted softly and the Scot found himself speechless for a few moments. “See your bike’s all fixed up.”</p>
<p>He swallowed. “Aye, good as new.”</p>
<p>“She looks good. You still convinced you’ll get me on one?”</p>
<p>“I – ah –” Soap was acutely aware that he’d said it in the heat of the moment, previously. That he’d get Price on a motorcycle; but the idea of being the one riding with the other on the back… His gut twisted nervously. “I’d… love t’ be able t’ get you on this one. Drive you around a little but – fears t’ conquer ‘n’ all.”</p>
<p>Price considered him, conscious that Soap likely had issues with giving others rides due to the major accident he’d had. He supposed it was similar to being cautious about people touching his hand, after the bullet wound. Scars that hadn’t fully healed often raw, out of sight. “Do you want to conquer them?”</p>
<p>“Definitely. I – well, possibly. I don’t know. Because conquering means… actually trying it, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able t’ do that.”</p>
<p>“I’m not going to try and force you, Soap, don’t worry.”</p>
<p>“No, I know that, Price, I know you wouldn’t but sometimes I wonder whether someone should?”</p>
<p>“That’s something you’ll need to face <em>yourself</em>, when or <em>if</em> the time comes.”</p>
<p>Soap nodded. “Don’t think I’ll ever be able t’ face it alone.”</p>
<p>“We could sit on her, if you’d like?” Price suggested with a tilt of his head.</p>
<p>“Sit on her?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, no harm can come if we’re not <em>moving</em>.”</p>
<p>The Scot glared at him. “You just jinxed it.”</p>
<p>“No I didn’t,” Price withheld a laugh. “You don’t <em>have</em> to –”</p>
<p>“I – no, you’re right. We could just… sit… No – ah – no harm in that.”</p>
<p>“Soap, you <em>really</em> don’t have to if you –”</p>
<p>“No, no, it’s fine. C’mon, she’s… she’s very comfy. Just gotta –” He approached the bike and stared at it, fingers flexing nervously. “Just gotta…”</p>
<p>“How about I go first?” Price offered, gesturing to the passenger seat.</p>
<p>MacTavish eyed him cautiously, ensuring he wasn’t joking. <em>Why would he take this piss?</em> He thought to himself. “If you’re sure, then alright.”</p>
<p>“Of course. I just put my leg over like this?” Price checked as his body followed his words.</p>
<p>“Aye, like that. Then you’re feet go here…”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Price breathed, positioning his legs and feet. Once in place, he leaned back to give Soap room. “You ready?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he said hopefully, though his own body didn’t move.</p>
<p>“One leg over,” Price encouraged.</p>
<p>“One leg over,” Soap repeated, only shifting when the Sergeant’s hand reached out to gently take his wrist and slowly guide him. It clicked him into motion and he seated himself on the bike, hands grasping at the bars.</p>
<p>“And then where do I hold onto?”</p>
<p>“Hold onto?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, or do I… keep my fingers crossed I don’t fall off?” Price joked.</p>
<p>“Oh! Ah – you… you can either hold onto the back of the seat or uh –” He patted at the sides of his jacket. “Here…”</p>
<p>“Like this?” Price asked, placing his warm palms on Soap’s covered waist.</p>
<p>“A-Aye, aye like that…”</p>
<p>A mutual quiet fell between them, save for the sound of their breathing and the occasional traffic passing by. Price allowed Soap to adjust at his own pace and only when the Scot began to relax did he shift forwards in order to press his chest to the others back, prompting Soap to tense again. “We don’t have t’ go anywhere,” Price informed him softly. “Can stay like this until you’ve had enough.”</p>
<p>“Don’t think I could ever get enough’a this…” Soap admitted, nerves flaring because he’d intended to <em>think</em> it rather than say it.</p>
<p>Thankfully, Price merely chuckled – not forcing the other out of his comfort zone. He agreed internally, however, thinking how there wasn’t a single thing he’d rather do than this. They stayed like that for a while, with Price rumbling praise and encouragement every now and again. Despite the initial terror, Soap came to realize how safe he felt in Price’s presence, and how as time slowly passed he felt the fear and panic ease. Of course, starting the bike up and driving it would be an entirely different battle in itself, but for now, he was happy to remain still – hell, maybe driving with the Sergeant behind him could be something he’d be able to gradually work towards. If not? Price made it clear that it didn’t matter.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for reading! loads of exciting stuff coming up in further chapters.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>two chapters? why not.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Christmas was creeping up on them. With only a couple of weeks left, Soap and Simon were assisting The Barracks with ideas. Christmas Eve, Day, New Year’s Eve and Day, there was so much to plan and prepare for. They were already fully booked for the rest of the month table wise, and as for the bar, there was no way of knowing exactly how many people would show up for a cheerful drink or two. New Year’s Eve often meant the inn would be overflowing with customers, always a great opportunity to make good money though it also meant staff needed their heads to be on a swivel. People could get rowdy, disagreements could break out – or on the complete opposite end of the scale, nothing wrong could take place whatsoever.</p>
<p>On top of that, Soap needed to buy Price a present. Something that said… I want to spend the rest of my life with you? No, too desperate. Maybe something that said… boyfriend material? The Scot gritted his teeth in frustration, leaning against the bar. “Cheesy. Bloody cheesy,” he scolded himself. This was <em>serious</em>, a gift was able to say either ‘let’s remain friends’ or ‘let’s take things to the next level’. <em>What if Price hasn’t got me anything?</em> He thought. It was entirely possible. Sure, he’d sensed that Price appeared to be drawn to him as Soap had been vice versa, however, it could’ve been… a misunderstanding on Soap’s part. Maybe he’d misread signals… convinced himself something was happening when really there was nothing between them!</p>
<p>“You look like you’re a million miles away,” Ghost remarked, reaching for a glass to fill at the taps.</p>
<p>“Huh?” Soap jerked, blinking himself back to the present. “Ah – no, I’m fine, mate.”</p>
<p>“Somethin’ on your mind? Other than Price, I mean.”</p>
<p>Soap glared at him. “Shut your mouth.”</p>
<p>“Heh – answers that question, then.”</p>
<p>“Christmas is coming up!” Soap grunted, giving in.</p>
<p>“Yeh. What about it?”</p>
<p>“Presents, Simon. What the bloody hell am I supposed t’ get Price? Should I even bother?”</p>
<p>“Not sure I’m the one to ask, mate.”</p>
<p>“Why not?” Soap asked, arching a brow softly.</p>
<p>“Don’t really see the point in it all, as <em>you</em> know. You not better off askin’ ‘im what he wants?”</p>
<p>“No… Defeats the <em>point</em> of it being a surprise. It’s not the same if he knows I’m getting him one. ‘specially not if he knows what it is.”</p>
<p>Ghost shrugged. “Can’t help you then. Ask him some questions. Get y’self some intel.”</p>
<p>“This isn’t a recon mission, Simon.”</p>
<p>“Doesn’t matter t’ me. Somebody’s in line for a drink, Soap. Don’t keep ‘em waitin’.” Ghost left the bar, taking the drink over to one of the tables he was serving.</p>
<p>Soap glanced up at the bloke in line and cleared his throat, collecting himself. “Sorry about that,” he apologized with a forced but believable smile. “What can I get you?”</p>
<p>“Just a coffee please, mate,” the customer said, offering cash out to cover the cost.</p>
<p>“No worries, cheers,” the money was taken and placed into the register. He sent the man back to his seat and brought the coffee over, returning back to the bar to continue his internal debate. That was, until an idea popped into his head. What if he got something Price liked, but the <em>main</em> gift was something… memorable? There’d be a big party at the inn on New Year’s Eve, if he could get Price to take the night off… He could try and get Price to dance with him, to get lost among the crowds and countdown together… then, when the clock struck twelve, he could kiss him! <em>If</em> Price kissed back, that was. If Price didn’t stumble back awkwardly to evade him. <em>Shite</em>, he thought, <em>it could go horribly wrong</em>. But if the other was even the slightest bit interested in him, <em>it could go so right</em>. The setting, the mood, the start of a new year…</p>
<p>“That’s <em>it</em>,” he hummed. “That’s gotta be it.” Although, he still had to pick out a present. Perhaps he could be predictable and buy alcohol he didn’t like, or clothing he’d probably hate. “Cigars…” Soap muttered, tapping at the bar’s surface. Price had mentioned lacking a humidor in a past conversation, how he’d not had time to buy a new one due to time restraints. There was a large one in his home, too big to bring around with him, which was why he often carried them in plastic bags.</p>
<p>‘They deserve better than a plastic bag…’ He recalled the Sergeant saying.</p>
<p>Tugging out his phone, Soap searched the internet for one, realizing they were bloody expensive! How Price had afforded the one he had at his place the Scot <em>didn’t</em> want to know. His own wallet sobbed at the thought. “These are too big anyway…” He sighed, pausing as he caught a glance of something smaller and cheaper. Well, cheaper than the hundreds of pounds he’d already scrolled past. It was a travel humidor, a small box made of cedar wood wrapped in rich, brown leather, stunningly smooth looking and neatly presented. In the image, he could see six cigars being showcased – perfect for carrying around during the day as well as taking them away for a few nights if he needed. “Perfect!” Soap grinned, selecting the correct colour and then making his way through the payment method while keeping an eye out for waiting customers.</p>
<p>Once the item was ordered, he double checked for when it’d arrive, biting his lip upon seeing it’d get to him before Christmas. “<em>Smart</em> bastard,” he praised himself. All he could hope for now was that Price liked it – and that he didn’t think it was weird for Soap to get him anything.</p>
<hr/>
<p>[ I imagine you’re busy this Christmas? ] 19:08</p>
<p><br/>Soap relaxed on the sofa with the tv droning on in the background, his gaze studying the received message from Price.</p>
<p><br/>[ Always got time for you, Price. ] 19:08</p>
<p><br/>He wondered whether that was too forward, always more confident over the phone.</p>
<p><br/>[ What were you thinking? ] 19:08</p>
<p><br/>[ Could come see you at The Barracks on Christmas Eve if you fancy it?<br/>If you’re working the Eve part, that is, since I’m working in the day. ] 19:09</p>
<p><br/>[ Not Christmas Day? ] 19:09</p>
<p><br/>[ Would prefer to drop in sooner. <br/>I’ve got New Year’s Eve off, if that’s<br/>something you’re interested in knowing? ] 19:10</p>
<p><br/>[ I’m working Christmas Eve to New Years Day. ] 19:10</p>
<p><br/>[ Ah, no worries. I assumed you’d be busy then. ] 19:11</p>
<p><br/>[ You’re welcome to come see me! New Year’s can be<br/>interesting, for sure. Your company would be <br/>much appreciated, I assure you. ] 19:11</p>
<p><br/>[ I suppose I could pop in, have a drink or two. <br/>Sure I can get a taxi back if need be. ] 19:12</p>
<p><br/>[ Or you can stay until my shift’s over at 1am. <br/>Then we could go back to mine? ] 19:12</p>
<p><br/>[ You’ll be tired after work, I wouldn’t want<br/>you to put yourself out for me. ] 19:12</p>
<p><br/>[ Trust me, it’s no bother at all. ] 19:13</p>
<p><br/>[ I know better than to argue with you.<br/>Alright. Count me in. ] 19:13</p>
<p><br/>[ Are you still going to come see me Christmas Eve? ] 19:14</p>
<p><br/>[ If you want me to. As I said, I’m working in the day, however. ] 19:14</p>
<p><br/>[ That’s fine! I’m on an evening rota that night. ] 19:15<br/><br/>[ Do you want to? ] 19:15</p>
<p><br/>[ I’d be delighted, Soap. I look forward to it. <br/>Can check in, make sure everything’s in order. ] 19:16</p>
<p><br/>[ You reckon people will be misbehaving on Christmas Eve? ] 19:16</p>
<p><br/>[ It happens. ] 19:17</p>
<p><br/>[ Oh, I don’t doubt it. ] 19:17</p>
<p>[ But I can handle them, if they do. ] 19:17</p>
<p><br/>[ Oh, I don’t doubt it. ] 19:18</p>
<p><br/>Soap smirked at Price’s reply, repeating his own words.</p>
<p><br/>[ We should try with your bike again soon, if you’re up for it? ] 19:18</p>
<p><br/>The smirk faltered. Over the passing weeks, Price had been coming over to help Soap regarding getting him more comfortable with a passenger being on the back of his motorcycle. They’d gotten as far as sitting stationary with helmets on. It was as far as Soap had ever managed to get since his accident, although he was going through with it mostly because he thrived on spending time with Price, let alone his back pressed to his chest and the Sergeant’s arms wrapped around him during that time. Whether he’d ever be able to move the bike was debatable. He preferred the idea of merely sitting with the other like that forever.</p>
<p><br/>[ Maybe. ] 19:19</p>
<p><br/>[ No pressure. I look forward to seeing you. ] 19:19</p>
<p><br/>[ I know, I appreciate it, Price. And I look forward to seeing you too. ] 19:19</p>
<p><br/>“Oi,” Ghost called out from the side of the bar, prompting Soap’s gaze to rise. “You hear about Makarov?”</p>
<p>“What <em>now</em>?” Soap asked, brows furrowed with concern.</p>
<p>“They fuckin’ booked ‘im, mate.”</p>
<p>“They what?”</p>
<p>“You know I said they were investigatin’ him?”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Soap nodded, leaning closer to better hear the masked man.</p>
<p>“They found some shit. Real shit.”</p>
<p>“Like what?”</p>
<p>“Dunno, mate, but I’m pretty sure it’ll involve me and the lads, eventually.”</p>
<p>“Bloody hell, that serious?”</p>
<p>Ghost shrugged, glancing around to ensure no one was listening. “Apparently. Got terror connections. Been usin’ the places ‘e’s been buyin’ to manufacture shit. Bloke’s got some bloody powerful friends.”</p>
<p> The Scot raised a hand to scratch at the side of his chin. No more Makarov? No more of him hounding The Barracks to hand over their business, no more threats or intimidation? “What’s gonna happen to ‘im?”</p>
<p>“‘s all I know so far. Keep you updated. Tosser’s done in, though – how long for who knows. Least he won’t be a problem for us over the holiday.”</p>
<p>“Aye, that’s the last thing we need.” Surreal, they’d been victims of unreportable crimes for some time now, it didn’t seem possible that Makarov got nicked by secret intelligence. Nevertheless, Soap wondered whether Ghost would get sucked into it somehow, due to the terror involvement. Hell, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what plans the wanker might’ve had in store for the inn. “Thanks f’ letting me know, mate.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>always interrupted :(</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Christmas Eve had arrived and The Barracks cleaned up nicely. There was a small Christmas tree in the corner, decorated with holiday-themed decorations as well as the odd hint of the military. Tinsel stretched from beam to beam and Christmas songs played quietly though the speakers – not nearly as hostile to the ears as some places played it. The end of year holidays meant many things for the inn, from customers coming for the atmosphere and celebrations, to veterans and serving soldiers coming along in order to find company. Sometimes, they had families who’d lost a member to the military show up to enjoy the related themes during the festive gathering.</p>
<p>Countless crowds and differing customers came to the inn because the air was respectful and not obnoxious or forced. Soap took great pride in not only being able to provide a service for said people, but comfort and company for the lonely or low.</p>
<p>He’d brought Price’s present to work, carefully stashed beneath the bar. His wrapping wasn’t great but he hoped that didn’t matter, since it wasn’t the primary gift he intended to deliver. Simon knew about the cigar box, but Soap hadn’t told him anything else – not yet, at least. He didn’t think he’d recover from that, if Price turned him down.</p>
<p>“You reckon he’ll like it?” He asked, turning to face Ghost who was making himself a coffee beside him.</p>
<p>“I’m not feeding this,” Ghost replied bluntly.</p>
<p>“Oh, come on, just yes or no.”</p>
<p>“<em>Yeh</em>, I think he’ll like it. Now stop ya worrying, mate.”</p>
<p>“I’m not worrying I’m –”</p>
<p>The Brit gave him a look, challenging.</p>
<p>“<em>Fine</em>. Fine, okay. I’m worrying but I can’t help myself.”</p>
<p>“Keep distracted.”</p>
<p>“Aye, doin’ my best.” It <em>barely</em> worked, however. Soap couldn’t take his mind off of seeing Price. Of what expression he’d pull as he handed the present over. What if he showed up empty handed? It wouldn’t be a problem as such, because Soap wasn’t expecting a gift and he certainly wasn’t giving to receive but – maybe they hadn’t know each other long enough to exchange gifts? <em>You’re overthinking</em>, he told himself.</p>
<p>Sighing, the Scot tried to focus on the seemingly endless groups of customers, filling table after table, each seat reserved for the busy evening which meant thoroughly checking bookings and surnames to ensure nobody was sneaking their way in. He had to deal with a few people who became rude when their table hadn’t cleared by the time of the next booking and when things started to become too chaotic, thankfully, they started to calm for an hour or so.</p>
<p>It was 9pm when Price showed up, smartly dressed and most notably with something in his hands. Soap tensed when he spotted the man approaching, fumbling for something to do when he realized he was staring. He randomly picked up an empty glass and awkwardly held it.</p>
<p>“Busy night,” Price observed, turning his gaze to study the room before letting it fall back on Soap.</p>
<p>“Two more hours left,” Soap shrugged, placing the glass down on the bar. “Getting there.”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble for talking to me. You got a break coming up?”</p>
<p>“Not for another twenty minutes…” Soap breathed, looking across the sea of heads at Ghost. “I’ll see if Simon can –”</p>
<p>“That’s alright. I’ll wait.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure, Price? I –”</p>
<p>Price shook his head with a smile. “Really, it’s not a problem. I quite like watching you work.”</p>
<p>Soap couldn’t hide his surprise at the other’s words. <em>I quite like watching you work</em>. Was he flirting? No, no he <em>couldn’t</em> be. “Buildin’ up a bloody sweat, more like.”</p>
<p>“You’re good at your job. I can appreciate that.”</p>
<p>“You can, can you?” Soap noticed a smirk curling Price’s lips and it took a lot not to shudder. Jesus Christ, the man was something else. He thought about how Price likely worked out a lot, to maintain his shape – just as the Scot did. He thought about them working out together, <em>building up a sweat</em>… “Well, I’m sure you’re just as good if not better.”</p>
<p>“At my job?” Price dared to ask, suggestion in his tone and Soap squinted at him.</p>
<p>“At your <em>job</em>, yes.” He avoided biting his lip when the other gave a husky chuckle. Instead, he opted to clear his throat. “I’ll be with you shortly.”</p>
<p>“Wonderful.”</p>
<p>While Soap made his rounds, visiting the bar tables to serve drinks and take orders, he could feel Price’s gaze on him – intense and watchful, his heart was in his throat, pleading for him not to mess anything up. Not to mention the box in the man’s grasp, which Soap had noticed was indeed wrapped like a gift. <em>Don’t overthink it, Soap, you’ll end up disappointed otherwise</em>. What if Price intended to see someone <em>else</em> after this? He felt his palms beginning to sweat.</p>
<p>Twenty minutes passed painfully slow, to the point where his stomach started to tighten as his watch ticked away. With another member of the bar staff taking his place during his break, Soap made his way through the crowds and seated himself beside Price. Drawing in a deep breath, he turned to face him and gave a tired smile. “Hi.”</p>
<p>“You look ready for bed,” the Sergeant commented.</p>
<p>“Is that a nicer way of saying I look tired?”</p>
<p>“You look like you’ve worked <em>hard</em>, this evening.” Price was admiring how pieces of Soap’s mohawk fell, sweat glistening on his forehead and eyes sparkling – adrenaline clearly coursing through him. Was that how he looked during more intimate moments? An exhausted Soap was admittedly <em>terribly</em> handsome.</p>
<p>“Not hard enough.”</p>
<p>“No? Why do you think that?”</p>
<p>“Perfectionist,” Soap confessed. “Always reckon I can do things better.”</p>
<p>“I think you’re doing just fine.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, Price. Somehow you always know the right thing to say.”</p>
<p>“Not always. But if you’re confident, regardless, it comes across that way.”</p>
<p>Soap laughed, eyes closing for a moment to savour the mental image of the other without coming across as odd. “I’ll bear that in mind. Tips from a leader, eh?”</p>
<p>“You’d be surprised by the things you can convince a bunch of blokes t’ do, if you say it a certain way.”</p>
<p>“Is that so?” There was a pause as Soap considered that sentence. Price could <em>certainly</em> convince him to do practically <em>anything</em> with that voice of his. “Should I be worried?”</p>
<p>The other met his gaze, as though reading his thoughts. “I think you’d be harder to convince.”</p>
<p>“What makes you say that?” What <em>exactly</em> was Price referring to? Because it was making Soap feel some kind of way.</p>
<p>“You seem fairly stubborn, in a good way. Reckon you’d need persuading a little more.”</p>
<p>He swallowed, feeling light-headed. “I’m definitely capable’a bein’ persuaded…”</p>
<p>The box in Price’s hands was presented, finally, lifted up into view to fill the heady space between them. “I got you something.”</p>
<p>Soap blinked, recovering from the sudden shift. “I – you – you did?”</p>
<p>“I did.”</p>
<p>“Wow, Price that’s… oh, shite, hang on – I got you somethin’ as well!” Soap stumbled from his stool and maintained a grip on the bar as he made his way behind it, locating the gift which he then brought back to his seat. After all his worrying, he’d almost forgotten the bloody thing! “Here.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t expecting <em>this</em>, that’s very thoughtful of you.” The presents were swapped and the two held them with care, waiting for a cue.</p>
<p>“You mind if I open it back at home?” Soap inquired, unable to suppress the growing grin on his face.</p>
<p>“Not at all. Would you rather I wait too?”</p>
<p>“I don’t mind! You’re welcome to open it now if you… if you want.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Yeah!” Soap nodded.</p>
<p>“<em>Hm</em>, alright. If you’re sure.” The Sergeant placed the object on the bar, ensuring not to drop it as he tore the wrapping paper away and placed it to the side. He took the humidor in his hands and turned it around, an index finger tracing the leather. Once he’d taken in the outside, he began opening the box to reveal what was inside.</p>
<p>Soap watched Price’s face the entire time, studying every twitch of muscle – whether it was joy or disappointment. “It’s –”</p>
<p>“Beautiful,” Price stated. “This is <em>beautiful</em>, Soap. It’s for travel, I assume?”</p>
<p>“No more plastic bags or damp tissues.”</p>
<p>“That’s –” he seemed somewhat speechless, the Scot noticed. “<em>Thank you</em>, Soap. I’ll treasure this.”</p>
<p>Soap smiled, beaming on the inside. “I do actually… have another gift but ah – I thought I’d give that t’ you when you come by on the thirty-first, if that’s okay?”</p>
<p>“Another?” Price asked, rising his brows. “Soap, you really didn’t have to –”</p>
<p>“It’s nothing <em>massive</em>, just a little thank you for… well, all that you’ve done.”</p>
<p>Price returned the smile and placed a hand on Soap’s shoulder, gently squeezing. “You’re full of surprises.”</p>
<p>“That I am.”</p>
<p>“Can’t thank you enough f’ this.”</p>
<p>“And thank you for <em>this</em> in advance!” Soap gestured to his own unopened present.</p>
<p>“Of course. Do let me know your thoughts, once you open it.”</p>
<p>“I will,” Soap agreed, tucking it into his lap to avoid it getting knocked over. “So! Any big plans coming up?”</p>
<p>“Nothing special, other than New Year’s Eve with you.”</p>
<p>Excitement swelled in Soap’s chest. He considered that <em>special</em>, did he? Oh, it’d certainly be a night to remember, one way or another. “Not spending the New Year <em>with</em> anybody then?”</p>
<p>“Unfortunately not. Parents a’ no longer around and despite my <em>friendly</em> disposition, I’m not much of a social bloke.”</p>
<p>“Ah, sorry t’ hear about your parents, although I completely understand – I’m exactly the same.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be, they passed some time ago. And I suppose the inn makes sense then, rather than a club.”</p>
<p>Soap smirked. “I bet we’d have a good time at a club, you know.”</p>
<p>The Sergeant was amused by the idea. “Yeah?”</p>
<p>“After a few drinks.”</p>
<p>“That what it takes t’ get you out of your shell?”</p>
<p>“Sometimes. Although <em>you</em> seem t’ draw me out all on your own.”</p>
<p>“A few drinks <em>and</em> myself seems like a potentially bad idea, then.”</p>
<p>“Maybe one day we’ll find out,” Soap hummed.</p>
<p>“Maybe.”</p>
<p>Their voices had lowered so that only they could hear each other, the heat between them radiating and were it not for the irritating bleep of his watch, he might’ve leaned in. Soap winced. “Breaks over.”</p>
<p>“That’s okay,” Price exhaled, leaning back as though to search for oxygen. The Scot found himself doing the same thing, like they’d been holding their breath. “I’ll see you again on the thirty-first, Soap. Wish I could stay but I’ve got an early shift tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“Aye, you get some rest. I look forward to it. I’ll let you know when I open <em>this</em>.” He nudged at the present, rising from his stool when Price did.</p>
<p>“Thanks again f’ this,” the other gestured to his own gift. “Look after yourself, yeah?”</p>
<p>“You too, Price.” That was the closest they’d come to <em>showing they care</em>. Soap’s grin crept back onto his lips. He watched the Brit make his way towards the exit, heart fluttering as the older man looked back to give him a wink. Soap raised his hand as a brief goodbye, and once Price was out of sight he rocked on his heels. “Oh, fuck me…” He uttered to himself, then bit his lower lip.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Soap slept in on Christmas Day, <em>unintentionally</em>. He wasn’t working until early evening and Simon never woke him unless they were late for something. Sighing, the Scot groaned against his pillow, allowing himself to stir from his rest. He reached out to his side table and patted around for his phone, bringing it under the covers as his eyes adjusted to the light.</p>
<p><strong>11:20 AM</strong>.</p>
<p>Exhausted from the previous night, he was grateful his body had allowed him to sleep in. Soap blinked, noticing a message from Simon. He unlocked the phone and selected their log.</p>
<p><br/>[ Got called out. Not sure when back. Check under<br/>the tree when you’ve got a sec, mate. ] 05:58</p>
<p><br/>“Shite,” he croaked. Simon had gotten barely <em>any</em> sleep, then. Soap wondered what the mission was.</p>
<p><br/>[ No worries. Stay safe. Any idea what it’s about? ] 11:21</p>
<p><br/>He placed the phone back on the table, only for it to buzz. It was a message from <em>Price</em> this time. He yanked the phone back under his duvet and scanned the screen.</p>
<p><br/>[ Merry Christmas, Soap! ] 11:21</p>
<p><br/>He realized he hadn’t opened Price’s present yet, and instead set it down by the tree last night because he was too tired to fully appreciate it. That gave him reason to rise, legs slipping over the side of his bed as he pushed himself to his feet and made his way into the hall. He walked to the living room where the Christmas tree he’d put up a few weeks ago sat in the corner. It was big enough, simplistically decorated because between himself and Simon, they walked into it maybe ten times a day and knocked thin, silver strings of tinsel and baubles onto the floor which then tended to get stepped on and crushed or walked around the house if neither of them put it back on the tree.</p>
<p>Beneath it, sat Price’s present – the only wrapped gift there, save for the few unopened gifts he’d bought Simon and a small, blank envelope he didn’t recognize. Bringing the present into his lap, he tore away the paper and took a sharp breath at the item in his hold. It was whisky, a gorgeous and familiar bottle – the same whisky he’d tried at Price’s and <em>loved</em>. Price’s <em>favourite</em> whisky. “That’s so bloody <em>thoughtful</em>!” He said fondly, admiring the bottle. Placing it carefully beside him, he tugged his phone from his pocket and unlocked it, replying to Price’s message.</p>
<p><br/>[ Merry Christmas, Price! Mad excited<br/>to drink this whisky. Thanks a bunch.<br/>Although I might have to invite you<br/>over sometime to help me drink it. ] 11:32</p>
<p><br/>He balanced his phone on his thigh as he eyed the envelope. Soap smiled as he picked it up, knowing exactly what would be inside. It hadn’t been stuck down leaving the flap to be easily lifted out the way to reveal a card which he freed. Upon opening it, something fell out.</p>
<p><br/>“Cheers to another year, fella. Have a good one, Simon,” it read. He glanced down at his lap and noticed it was money that fell out – fifty pounds worth of notes, in fact. Simon was straight forward, when it came to gifts. <em>Buy whatever takes your fancy</em>, he’d say. He wasn’t one to spend time shopping for people, regardless of how close they were to him. That was a barrier he maintained, <em>even</em> with Soap, and the Scot respected that.</p>
<p>Pleased, he collected the money and the alcohol and made his way back to his room, placing the bottle on the kitchen counter for later use as he passed. His phone buzzed again. The money was slipped into his wallet and secured, then, he sat on his bed and read <em>Simon’s</em> reply.</p>
<p><br/>[ Our Russian wanker, believe it or not.<br/>Can’t discuss over phone, just in case.<br/>But they dug some serious shit up. ] 11:40</p>
<p><br/>[ Damn. Head on a swivel then. <br/>Thanks for letting me know. ] 11:40</p>
<p><br/>“Fucking Makarov…” Soap grunted. What the hell was that bastard involved in? While he hoped Simon would get to the bottom of it, he also hoped he’d stay safe. It was a <em>regular</em> worry. He decided he’d thank Riley when the other returned from his mission – knowing better than to distract him. His phone buzzed a third time and he blinked at it. Price had replied and every time the name popped up he found himself grinning.</p>
<p><br/>[ Thought we agreed a few drinks with me was a bad idea? ] 11:41</p>
<p><br/>[ We’ll never know if we don’t try. ] 11:41</p>
<p><br/>[ Not sure that quote applies there. ] 11:42</p>
<p><br/>[ Are you turning down my offer? ] 11:42</p>
<p><br/>[ No, Soap. I’d love to share some whisky with you sometime. ] 11:42</p>
<p><br/>[ Thanks again, Price. ] 11:43</p>
<p><br/>[ Took my humidor to work with me today. ] 11:44</p>
<p><br/>[ Oh? ] 11:44</p>
<p><br/>[ It’s perfect. ] 11:45</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <strike>[ You’re perfect</strike>
</p>
<p>[ I’m glad you think so. Have a great day. ] 11:45</p>
<p><br/>[ You too, Soap. ] 11:45</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>one chapter left after this one! hope you've enjoyed this fic so far c:</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>New Year’s Eve had arrived. His shift was going to be exhausting, and to top it all off Simon wasn’t around to ease the pressure or mood. Sure, Price was going to come and see him, however, it was on Soap to pep talk <em>himself</em>.</p>
<p>“You’ve got this,” he reassured, sitting on his bike. He’d parked in his usual space but was still working up the courage to get his evening started. “Nothing can go wrong if you just take your time and relax. You’ve done this before, it’ll be <em>fine</em>.” A woman walking with a pram stopped to eye him curiously from across the street, likely wondering why this bloke was talking to himself, prompting him to step away from the vehicle and towards the inn. Taking a deep breath, he entered.</p>
<p>Already, there were a significant number of customers inside, enjoying their Eve before things became too loud or late for the kids. A few calm hours to prepare – slowly building himself up to the more intense part of the night. Soap rubbed his hands together, fighting the chill that’d been nipping at his fingertips. He shoved his pack under the bar as per usual and began setting up, cleaning away the mess the previous bartender had made. A finger tapped nervously at the polished surface. “You’ll be <em>fine</em>.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>It took some time for Price to show his face and Soap wondered whether the other didn’t want to sit alone for too long. Although, he’d mentioned in one of their conversations he <em>liked to watch him work</em>. Would tonight be the same? Staggering blue hues planted on him, observing every move. Soap couldn’t complain – in fact, he only dreamed that one day it’d progress <em>further</em>. Whatever further was…</p>
<p>10pm arrived as the Sergeant did, dressed in an attractive, light grey overcoat which covered what seemed to be a black top, with black jeans and smart shoes to finish the look. Price always looked good, in a smart casual way that said he’d put effort into his appearance but not <em>more</em> than necessary. That, and he often seemed keen to look good in Soap’s presence, which the Scot appreciated in more ways than one.</p>
<p>He greeted the other with a smile. “You look good, Price, nice t’ see you.”</p>
<p>Price returned the greeting. “Nice t’ see you too, Soap. And thanks, requires a bit more effort than usual to even <em>slightly</em> stand out next t’ <em>you</em>.” He gestured to a stool. “Is this taken?”</p>
<p>Soap already felt breathless and the other had arrived mere <em>seconds</em> ago. “You’re just looking f’ more free drinks,” he jested. “No, ‘s all yours. Make yourself comfortable.”</p>
<p>“<em>Foiled</em>,” Price smirked, raising his hands guiltily. He glanced at the surrounding crowds. “Simon around?”</p>
<p>Soap shook his head. “No, <em>busy</em>.”</p>
<p>“So you’ve been on your own?”</p>
<p>“Aye, well, to a degree. It’s been a big help… bein’ able t’ text <em>you</em>.”</p>
<p>“You should’ve told me. I could’ve come ‘round – or had you visit my place.”</p>
<p>He knew, had he told him, that Price would’ve offered exactly that and he also knew he wouldn’t be able to turn the offer down which was precisely why he didn’t mention it. He’d worked himself up so much, thinking about the kiss he intended to give – putting himself under excessive pressure. He couldn’t have risked doing something stupid or messing it up in some way. “Ah, I wouldn’t have wanted t’ be a burden, Price.”</p>
<p>“<em>Never</em>,” the Sergeant denied. “Not possible.”</p>
<p>“<em>You</em>, are charming,” Soap accused, lips curving fondly.</p>
<p>“I’m honest. You’re <em>always</em> welcome t’ have my company, Soap. If I can’t be there in person I’ll do my bloody best to be there over the phone.”</p>
<p>“You like this with everyone you know?”</p>
<p>“Only the ones I’m close to,” Price stated, their gazes meeting.</p>
<p>“You consider me… t’ be one of those people?”</p>
<p>“I do. I wasn’t lying when I told Simon I think you’re good company. I really enjoy having you around.”</p>
<p>Speechless, Soap found himself reeling from Price’s charm tonight. If this was the man being reserved he wondered what it was like for him to let loose and say what he felt. His lips parted and then sealed a few times. “Can I get you a Price? <em>Drink!</em> Can I get you a <em>drink</em>, <strong>Price </strong>is what I was <em>meant</em> t’ say…” Was it hot or was it him? He cleared his throat.</p>
<p>“I’d like that,” the other replied softly. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>“Beer?” Soap managed to choke out.</p>
<p>“I actually might be tempted by a whisky, tonight.”</p>
<p>The Scot nodded, lowering himself behind the bar and out of sight in search of an appropriate glass. He took a deep breath. <em>What he’d give to lean across and snog the man!</em> Reaching out, he grasped the glass, regaining his composure before standing back up. “Unfortunately, we don’t stock your favourite, but we <em>do</em> have a quality selection.” He gestured to the line of whisky bottles. “Take your pick.”</p>
<p>“That one’ll do just fine.” Price pointed to a bottle, which Soap then opened and poured some of the contents into the glass. He handed it over, watching as the other took a slow sip. <em>Bloody torturous!</em> “Perfect.”</p>
<p>“I was going to ask you something, Price –” Soap blurted, mind racing. The atmosphere was getting to him, the easy-going mood within the room; people were drinking and others dancing with their partners to the music. He yearned to be a part of it, to be among it – always watching from a distance instead.</p>
<p>“Go on,” Price encouraged, attention solely on the Scot.</p>
<p>“I ah – well, I was wondering whether you’d –” <strong><em>Spit it out!</em></strong> He thought to himself. “Would you maybe like to dance with me? Y’ know, at the countdown?”</p>
<p>The Brit studied him. “Dance with you?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I thought it’d be – I mean you don’t have to I – ah, it was a dumb idea, <em>forget I</em> –”</p>
<p>“I would like that,” Price interrupted.</p>
<p>Soap paused, blinking. “You – yeah?”</p>
<p>“Can’t promise it won’t be interesting after a few drinks, however.”</p>
<p>He chuckled lightly, a weight lifted at the response. “I mean I never said I <em>could</em> dance.”</p>
<p>“You don’t think?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I <em>know</em> I can’t. But I think it’d be fun. Always… wanted t’ join in with the others.”</p>
<p>“I’ll guide you.”</p>
<p>“Of <em>course</em> you can dance,” Soap said, amused. “Anything you can’t do, Price?”</p>
<p>“Never said I could either,” Price shrugged. “But it’s easier t’ pull somethin’ off when you do it confidently. Like I said before.”</p>
<p>“That’ll be it then. Lack of confidence.”</p>
<p>“Bollocks’a you <em>not confident</em>.”</p>
<p>“Aye, seems you’ve a lot t’ teach me.”</p>
<p>Price squinted, smirking as he took another sip. “So long as I remain in your company.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Between talking with Price and serving customers, Soap hadn’t noticed how fast time seemed to be moving. It wasn’t until he overheard someone state that it was ten minutes until midnight that he realized. “Ten minutes?” He looked to Price, surprised.</p>
<p>“Time flies,” Price agreed.</p>
<p>“I’ll be right back.” He made his way from behind the bar and through the crowd towards a lingering co-worker and nudged their arm. She turned to face him, clearly overwhelmed by the growing excitement. “Clara, you mind watching the bar for ten minutes or so? Been a while since my last break.”</p>
<p>“Sure thing,” Clara nodded, seemingly relieved to step behind a barrier for a few minutes.</p>
<p>Soap found his way back to Price and daringly offered out a hand. “I’m on break.”</p>
<p>The Sergeant placed his hand in Soap’s and stepped away from his stool. This was it, there was no going back now. The least he could do was <em>pretend</em> he knew what he was doing. Price’s palm wasn’t clammy, he noticed, though heat radiated from his hold and Soap felt his knees weaken. He wanted those hands <em>on</em> him, holding him. Taking a page from the other’s book, he placed Price’s hands on his waist, chancing a glance at the older man who’s own gaze was set on the Scot. Who was leading? He decided not to let his worrying ruin the moment and placed his arms over Price’s shoulders, resting his forearms there to maintain <em>some</em> distance.</p>
<p>A few inches between their forms, Soap smirked. “You still gonna guide me?”</p>
<p>Price was breathless, his grip on Soap firm but cautious, not wanting to cross any boundaries. The closeness was dizzying, heart rate picking up as he took the lead, guiding Soap’s hips to the music. In the background, the bar’s tv crackled away – the London Eye and countless spectators able to be made out on the screen. Without words, they moved within a small space of the floor, avoiding other customers.</p>
<p>“Don’t think I’ve seen you this close up before,” Price commented, his voice low.</p>
<p>“Is that a bad thing?”</p>
<p>“Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Soap smiled, trying his best to suppress his excitement. “It’s not fair, y’ know.”</p>
<p>“What isn’t?”</p>
<p>“You’re handsome from every angle, far away and up close.”</p>
<p>Price’s brows shifted. “Handsome?”</p>
<p>“Don’t act like you don’t know it.”</p>
<p>“Can’t understand why that wouldn’t be fair. After all, that applies more so t’ <em>you</em> than me.”</p>
<p>A grin threatened to break. “That’s the whisky speaking.”</p>
<p>“Definitely not,” Price denied. They shared an airy chuckle.</p>
<p>Around them, the countdown from ten began. Price licked his lips and Soap’s gaze lowered, watching the movement. He found himself focusing there for a few moments, unable to draw his eyes away and when he managed to, he noticed Price studying his own.</p>
<p>
  <strong>FIVE!</strong>
</p>
<p>Was this it? The clearest cut signal in his life to <em>go for it? </em>A part of him wanted to wait for Price to take the lead, or at least for Price to encourage him, but it’d happened time and time again.</p>
<p>
  <strong>FOUR!</strong>
</p>
<p>Their eyes would meet and lock, the heat between them undeniable and yet – neither of them made a move. What would happen after? He wondered. What if leaning in was a terrible decision?</p>
<p>
  <strong>THREE!</strong>
</p>
<p>“Soap?” Price whispered, a question and a statement – <em>if you’re going to do something, do it</em>.</p>
<p>
  <strong>TWO!</strong>
</p>
<p>The Scot uttered incoherently in response, a needy sound born of frustration. Months of painful waiting!</p>
<p>
  <strong>ONE!</strong>
</p>
<p>Soap leaned in, panic and worry vanishing upon noticing Price following, the distance closing and he stuttered breathlessly, excitement finally reaching its peak. However, as their upper lips made contact, <em>barely</em>, someone was shoved into Soap sending him stumbling back and away from Price.</p>
<p>A fight had broken out, a drunken disagreement between strangers, pointed fingers and strings of curses booming causing the crowd to stir and shift. Shocked into stillness, Soap watched helplessly as a bottle was smashed over the head of the bloke who’d been shoved into him, beer and glass showering over him. Next, punches were thrown and the same guy was knocked to the ground and kicked before Price intervened. The Sergeant broke the disorder up, bar staff stepping in to assist the tosser on the floor while he moved the attacker over towards the exit.</p>
<p>Soap caught Price’s eye and saw the annoyance on his face. The Scot had yet to get that far, still stunned by the sudden contact and the total <em>bulldozing</em> of his kiss. Price freed his mobile and brought it to his ear, likely calling for backup as he manoeuvred the aggressor’s hands behind his back. Then, with a final apologetic glance in Soap’s direction, he led the wanker outside and disappeared.</p>
<p>The rest of the crowd seemed to have forgotten about the incident already, cheering and celebrating the New Year. But all Soap could feel was a pit of despair pooling in his gut and heavy disappointment weighing on his chest. He still hadn’t entirely come down from his excitement as he looked to the mess at his feet and exhaled a shaky breath. “<em>Shite</em>.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>gutted.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>final chapter! thanks for reading, this is the first fic I've ever 100% finished. be warned, this chapter is significantly nsfw.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>04:19 AM</strong>.</p>
<p>Price sat on the edge of his bed staring at his alarm clock. It’d been three days exactly since New Year’s Eve – <em>since Soap made the move to kiss him</em>. They hadn’t spoken beyond that night. Price didn’t know how to follow that up without allowing things to slip back to how they were before, awkwardly passing by one another until a moment arose, and there was no telling how long that’d be. Soap hadn’t been drinking; he made the move thinking clearly and with intent. It was no accident.</p>
<p>He was frustrated, overwhelmingly disappointed that they’d been interrupted. He’d called for back-up and taken the aggressor down to the station with another officer to provide information, a boring and uneventful evening that easily could’ve gone <em>very</em> differently. He tapped at his mattress, debating what to do. Whether he should try and go back to bed, or text Soap…</p>
<p>“Fuck it,” Price grunted, pushing himself to his feet. He collected his keys, wallet and phone and made his way out of his room, down the hall and to the front exit. Hesitating for only a brief second, he collected his coat, exited the house and then shut the door behind him.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Soap woke with a start, glancing around his room in search of the determined buzzing he could hear. Blinking through the dark, he noticed his phone was lit up – someone was calling him.</p>
<p>
  <strong>PRICE.</strong>
</p>
<p>The Scot had to do a double take, caught off-guard by the caller ID. They hadn’t spoken for days. Soap had assumed he’d blown it, that Price wasn’t going to talk to him after their last interaction. He rubbed at his forehead, wondering whether this was some sick joke.</p>
<p><strong>04:31 AM</strong>.</p>
<p>Why was he calling so bloody late? Was something wrong?</p>
<p>“Hello?” Soap answered groggily.</p>
<p>“Soap.”</p>
<p>“Is everything okay?”</p>
<p>“Can you come to the door?”</p>
<p>Soap squinted at a nearby empty space, confused. “The door? My door?”</p>
<p>“Yes, your door.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“Please.”</p>
<p>Pausing, he wondered what the hell was going on. What was outside his door? “Okay.” Slipping from beneath the covers, he ended the call and then entered the hallway, looking down it at his front door. There was no way to see outside it from where he stood, but something about the ominous situation made him uneasy. Slowly, he got closer until his hand rested on the lock. Taking a deep breath, he slid it across and opened it, peering out into the night.</p>
<p>It was raining heavily, a thin layer of water coating the road which spattered as a car drove by, lights illuminating the street – a stranger on their way to or returning from work. Soap’s gaze focused on Price who was stood a few steps back, soaked and withholding the instinct to shiver. “Bloody hell, Price, it’s <em>half four</em> in the morning! What are you doin’ here? It’s <em>pissing</em> it down and you’re –”</p>
<p>The other closed the distance, crossing the threshold and silencing Soap. “This is for the other night.”</p>
<p>Before Soap could respond, argue or try to ask any more questions, Price was kissing him – calloused hands cupping his jaw. It carried tremendous weight and yet restraint, clearly holding back. His thumbs stroked tenderly at Soap’s cheeks, breathlessly passionate and Soap couldn’t fight it, didn’t want to, and kissed back with equal fervour. However, he did part it for a few seconds, stuttering as he met Price’s gaze. “What – what exactly is… <em>this</em>?”</p>
<p>“Can’t keep pretending, Soap…” Price whispered.</p>
<p>“Pretending?”</p>
<p>“That we’re – that we’re just… <em>friends</em>. My feelings, I – I want t’ be <em>with</em> you, Soap. You’ve swept me off my <em>feet</em>, is what <em>this</em> is.”</p>
<p>Soap’s lips parted, words refusing to depart from them. Brows raised in disbelief, <em>he’d better not be bloody dreaming</em>, and instead he opted to bring Price back in for another, deeper kiss. He nodded, taking a breath, “are you asking me out, Price?”</p>
<p>Price chuckled into the kiss. “<em>Yes I bloody am</em>, tired of this charade.” He walked the Scot backwards, guiding his back to meet the wall.</p>
<p>“You’re soaking.” Soap wiped the rainwater from the other’s face. “I’ve got some spare clothes.”</p>
<p>“Not yet,” Price uttered against his lips. “Been waiting f’ this…”</p>
<p>“<em>Simon isn’t here</em>…”</p>
<p>“<em>I know</em>.” The two grinned fondly at each other, heated by the contact.</p>
<p>“<em>No interruptions</em>.”</p>
<p>“<em>No interruptions</em>,” Price agreed, allowing his eyes to dip and roam Soap’s pinned form, prompting the younger to exhale shakily.</p>
<p>“Wanted this so bad, you know,” Soap admitted, delivering another kiss. “Wanted <em>you</em>.”</p>
<p>“In what way?”</p>
<p>“<em>Every</em> way.”</p>
<p>Price smirked, adrenaline coursing through him as he shuddered. “<em>I’m here</em>.”</p>
<p>Soap’s hands drifted across the other’s torso, nudging at his sodden coat which Price immediately started to shrug off as he brought Soap back into a kiss, maintaining the contact as it landed behind him. He then stripped off his t-shirt, accepting Soap’s help when it kept clinging to his form.</p>
<p>Once bare chested, he pressed himself closer as one of his own hands ventured down to grasp at the Scot’s waist, keeping him in place. “Your turn,” Price encouraged, thumb nudging at the hem of his top which Soap gladly pulled over his head and discarded to the side.</p>
<p>The sound that left Price forced a groan out of Soap. “See anything y’ like?”</p>
<p>“<em>Like</em> isn’t the word,” the Sergeant replied lowly, bringing his lips to Soap’s neck. He grasped for Soap’s hands and placed the palms on the waistband of his trousers. “You okay t’ keep going?”</p>
<p>He sucked in a deep breath at the touch and nodded eagerly. “Please don’t stop now.” He hooked his fingers under the material, savouring another kiss as he tugged them down. Unable to see what he’d revealed, his hand wandered and grasped at Price’s length, drawing a guttural hum from him. “I can’t believe this is happening…”</p>
<p>Price shifted, stepping out of his wet trousers and nudged them aside with his foot which was also bare after he slipped out of his boots. He rolled his hips, seeking friction in Soap’s grip and laughed huskily at the look on the other’s face. “Feels good.”</p>
<p>The laughter only served to further excite him, Price’s voice so close to his ear – mesmerizing. “Oh I can make you feel good,” he challenged, grip tightening as he worked Price’s member, slowing every now and again to emphasise the sensation. His rhythm was stopped altogether though when Price reached out for the waist of Soap’s sweatpants and tugged at them.</p>
<p>“<em>Off</em>.”</p>
<p>One command was all it took for Soap to stumble nervously in order to strip off for his company, unable to try and make it sexy because quiet frankly he couldn’t cope with taking his time currently. Was this what Price meant by the effect of saying something confidently? He wanted Price, wanted to <em>feel</em> him in every way.</p>
<p>Wordlessly, the Sergeant drank in every detail, his scorching gaze burning Soap’s skin but he didn’t mind. He allowed himself to be turned to face the wall, shoulders pressing against the surface and hot breath bouncing back onto his face as Price’s hands clutched at his arse. As if that wasn’t enough, he choked when Price stepped closer and his half-hardened length pressed against the curve of one of his cheeks, replacing the hand there which then found its way to Soap’s own sensitivity.</p>
<p>“Bloody hell,” Soap moaned, gasping sharply when Price gripped him, a firm hold – reassuring him that Price knew what he was doing. The idea of an older, more experienced man handling him made him <em>weak</em>. His hips rocked back and forth needily. The foreplay didn’t last long, what with both men wanting more, which led to them moving into Soap’s room. He laid back onto the bed, wanting to see everything he possibly could, and grinned when Price filled the empty space – stepping in between Soap’s legs and lowering himself in order to kiss the other.</p>
<p>“Lube?” Price mumbled into his mouth, trying not to melt against Soap’s hands which skilfully danced across his back.</p>
<p>“Side table, bottom drawer.”</p>
<p>He was close enough that he didn’t have to move too much, foraging for the tube as Soap defiantly kept their lips locked. The lid was removed and the oil-like liquid was squirted into his palm which he then proceeded to smear along his length, brows rising at the pleasure gained from the movement, before focusing on preparing his company.</p>
<p>Soap gave a soft gasp as Price’s fingers explored his entrance, a teasing slide across the underside of his member causing him to jerk. “Bloody love you, Price. Can’t get enough’a you…”</p>
<p>The Sergeant parted from the kiss for a brief second. “Love me, hm?”</p>
<p>“Aye –” While he wasn’t entirely aware of the <em>depth</em> of his words in the moment, he meant them, nevertheless. “Had me the second I laid eyes on you.”</p>
<p>Price considered Soap, gently pressing himself into him, pausing when the other reacted – checking he was comfortable for him to continue. When given a shaky nod, he carefully continued forwards until his length was buried. Then, he lowered himself to comfortably rest on Soap’s form. “I love <em>you</em>, Soap.”</p>
<p>“Really?”</p>
<p>He smirked. “Yes, really.”</p>
<p>Soap wrapped his arms around Price, embracing him in his sweaty hold as his partner’s hips started to rock. “I must be the – <em>holy shit</em> – the luckiest bloke in the world.”</p>
<p>“Why’s that?” Price purred, gradually working up a rhythm, breath heavy against Soap’s neck.</p>
<p>“<em>Fuck</em>, Price.” His head tilted back, near whimpering with each thrust. “Can’t – it’s –” A deep groan left him. “<em>You’re just so fucking perfect</em>.” That earned him a kiss.</p>
<p>“That feel <em>good</em>, <em>love</em>?” Price teased.</p>
<p>Soap could only moan in response, wrapping his legs around his partner’s waist to encourage each roll of his hips. Conversation came to a standstill, making room for hands and mouths to explore as their forms ground against one another, the silence filled by grunting and whining as they both worked each other to the edge. It didn’t take long – both of them having fantasized about this for some time. Price removed himself from Soap and stroked, once, twice before releasing across his partner’s abdomen with a series of strained huffs. Panting, the Sergeant rumbled as he turned his attention to Soap’s own length, maintaining heavy eye contact and uttering praise and compliments as his hand worked him, thumb teasing the head every now and again until Soap twitched, keening as he tumbled over the verge he’d been teetering on.</p>
<p>Price gave a few more gentle rubs and then shifted to lay beside the other, reaching out to grasp his hand.</p>
<p>“This mean you’re my boyfriend now?” The Scot asked giddily.</p>
<p>“That depends. D’ you <em>want</em> me t’ be your boyfriend?”</p>
<p>“It’s <em>all</em> I want,” he said honestly.</p>
<p>“Then yes, <em>I’d like that</em>, love.”</p>
<p>Soap grinned lazily. “Call me love again.”</p>
<p>“Love.”</p>
<p><em>He gave a long sigh of relief</em>. That was something he could <em>definitely</em> get used to.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>please feel free to let me know your thoughts on this fic. I'm interested in knowing how the nsfw comes across, I rarely rarely RARELY write it and never know if it's too much or too little or just right etc. ALSO! I'll be uploading the first chapter to the sequel either tonight or tomorrow, so keep an eye out for that. it's going to be much more ghost-centered, that's all I'll say for now.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please consider leaving feedback, it helps massively.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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